


Sunflower

by shawsameen



Series: Solace [1]
Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Proposal Fusion, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Found Family, in which carla is devastatingly lonely but what else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 62,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26718616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shawsameen/pseuds/shawsameen
Summary: Most people who know Carla Rosón, C.E.O. and editor-in-chief of Caleruega Publishing Company, describe her as a bitch. Being her overworked personal assistant, Samuel probably has the most reason to agree with them, but he doesn’t. No, he thinks of her as strong.Then she announces that they’re engaged so she doesn’t get deported back to Spain, and Samuel just thinks she’s out of her fucking mind.(Carla thinks so too, but she’s not about to tell him that.)
Relationships: Carla Rosón Caleruega/Samuel García Domínguez
Series: Solace [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087496
Comments: 141
Kudos: 185





	1. i, samuel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an anon on tumblr asked me to talk about my multichapter ideas aaaaaand i named all of them except this one. because this one actually  
> came to me shortly after and would not leave me the hell alone, so now here we are! like i said on the last chapter of take it how you want it, i’ll be working on that at the same time as this, so as always, expect inconsistent (but hopefully frequent) updates lol
> 
> this is a carmuel au based on the movie the proposal with sandra bullock. you definitely don’t need to watch that to read this, it’s just an inspiration. hope you guys enjoy! and remember, comments and kudos are writer food <3 (also this is rated e because there will eventually be sex, but as per usual, i’ll warn about it beforehand for those who aren’t into smut)

Samuel García is running for his life. 

Well, more specifically, his _job,_ but considering that he needs it to pay his ridiculously high rent and buy groceries or other things essential to surviving, it’s an accurate, if not dramatic, statement. Add in the fact that his job pretty much _is_ his life because of how much he doesn’t have one outside of it, then it’s not just accurate, but outright true. 

And because he is _incredibly late,_ yes, his life is certainly on the line.

“Sorry! Excuse me!” He shouts over his shoulder as he books it through one of Upper Manhattan’s busy sidewalks, only sparing a single guilty thought for the delivery guy he’d nearly toppled into and knocked over, and then ignoring the cab that stops three inches away from his knee caps and blares its horn at him as he darts across the street. By the time he ducks inside of the small building he’d been headed for, his heart is jackhammering away in his chest, but he doesn’t allow himself even a second to stop and catch his breath, marching right up to the counter and the pretty, smiling barista standing behind it.

“Morning, Eva,” he pants, already reaching for his wallet and pulling out one of the numerous ten-dollar bills he keeps on hand for situations just like this one. Eva, who’s just as prepared on her own end, nudges two identical, medium-sized cups toward him. 

“Hi, Samuel,” she greets, looking him over. She always looks him over, usually with suggestive interest, but right now her raised eyebrow is more confused than flirty. “You’re running late today.”

“I was babysitting for my neighbor last night while she worked. Cocktail waitress, late hours. I slept past my alarm.” He hands Eva the money, waves her off like he always does when she tries to give him back his change, and picks up the two coffees. “And you’re a lifesaver for having these done already, honestly.”

“You come here every day at seven-thirty on the dot—usually,” she remarks. “I always have them ready. You’re just fifteen minutes behind today.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, preparing to leave. “I’m having a stressful morning.”

“Well, maybe the present I left you can change that.” 

Samuel smiles, a little confused himself now, then looks down at the cups when Eva points at them. There’s a number scrawled on the side of one in her all-too familiar handwriting, followed by _Call me - Eva_ and a heart.

Admittedly, he blushes a little. When he glances back up, Eva winks at him, then turns to the new customer stepping up to the till.

As Samuel ducks back out into the smoggy New York air, he does entertain the thought of calling Eva sometime. She’s pretty, he’s talked to her enough on a regular basis to know that they get along, and moreover, she’s interested in him. Those are basically the core starting standards for dating, lined up for him perfectly, and it’s been a while since he’s had a girlfriend.

Of course, there’s a reason for that, just like there’s a reason for why he doesn’t have a life outside of work: his boss, Carla. 

Okay, he knows how that kind of sounds. They’re not together, he’s not involved in some secret, torrid and taboo office love affair with his _boss,_ he just means that working for Carla allows him almost no free time for himself. When he first applied at Caleruega Publishing Company five years ago, he had no idea he was going to end up as the C.E.O.’s personal assistant, nor did he have any clue that being one was less like a job and more like a twenty-four-seven dedicated lifestyle. He wonders if all assistants live like this, missing birthdays and Christmases with his friends and family; showing up at the office with a much-needed copy of a manuscript at eleven p.m. on a Saturday night instead of socializing in a bar; or, like right now, dangerously running through traffic for coffee on four hours of sleep.

Maybe it’s just him, however. He doubts every employer has a reputation as no-nonsense and fear-inducing as Carla Rosón’s. She’s cutthroat. Staunch. Cold. Intelligent. Cunning. Business-savvy. 

Though, most people would just use the word _bitch._

Samuel’s certainly heard it muttered throughout the office often enough whenever Carla walks by, him right in tow. She’s also super observant, supposes she has to be, being an editor and all that, so she also has to hear the mean comments that follow in her wake. Samuel has never seen her react to them, though. Not even once, and some of the things that are said can be harsh. If he were her, _he’d_ have trouble keeping such an unaffected demeanor every day. 

He’d never use the word bitch to describe any woman, least of all Carla. She’s difficult to work for, yes; she hardly gives him holidays off—any days off, really—and praise from her is a rare, if not non-existent, thing; but she is not an all-around unfair person to work for, she pays more than he’s ever earned in his life, and honestly, Samuel thinks the most appropriate word to describe her as is _strong._

She is also incredibly punctual, and Samuel has fifteen minutes to beat her to the office—and not give her a reason to fire him—which would be a whole lot easier to do if she didn’t prefer an indie coffee shop in the middle of Manhattan as opposed to the Starbucks that is conveniently located right outside the company’s building. But if he moves fast enough, and perhaps prays enough, he thinks he just might make it.

He’s thanking whatever higher power might be listening as he approaches the entrance to their building with seven minutes to spare when someone walks right into him, causing him to accidentally dump one of the coffees all over the front of his gray suit.

“Shit!” He curses, but only stops for a millisecond to lament and panic before sprinting to the elevator, wedging his hand between the doors before they have a chance to close completely. He doesn’t have time to wait for the next one.

He stares down at his ruined suit. Well, the one good thing about being late today is that the coffee had been significantly cooler than it would have been if he was on time. He doesn’t even want to think about the type of second-degree burns he’d be suffering right now otherwise, especially considering how most of the coffee spilled over the crotch of his pants.

The guy standing next to Samuel eyes him warily. Samuel recognizes him from sales—Derek, he thinks his name is.

Derek, realizing that Samuel has noticed him, looks up and offers him a somewhat condescending half-smirk. Yeah. Salesmen.

“You’re Carla’s secretary, right?”

Samuel presses his lips together. It’s not a frown, but it’s not a smile either. “Assistant,” he corrects.

“Right. How’s it like, being at her beck and call all the time?”

Samuel doesn’t know how _Carla_ is the one who receives the brunt of the shit-talking, if only because the office—actually, _the world_ —is filled with dicks like Derek. Misogyny, probably.

“It’s fine,” he answers curtly, not wanting to give this guy any ammunition against her as well as simply just not wanting to talk to him any more than he has to. 

“I’m sure. Real cozy.” With one coffee splattered all over the pavement outside, Samuel has a hand free to tighten into a fist. “She any nicer to you than she is to the rest of us?”

No, she isn’t. It’s not like Carla’s _rude_ or anything—she’s polite, she has manners, but Samuel also wouldn’t go so far as to call her nice. He understands that he works under her; they’re not supposed to be friends or anything. He’s not sure Carla even _has_ friends. After all, Samuel is personally in charge of her schedule, and he’s never had to set up a lunch or dinner date for her with one in the past five years. 

But this asshole doesn’t need to know any of that, and again, Samuel gives him a neutral answer. 

“Miss Rosón doesn’t play favorites.”

Derek scoffs. “That’s for damn sure. Bet you haven’t even seen her smile.”

Samuel figures it’s safer to not dignify that with a response. Safer for Derek, at least.

The other man continues to take in Samuel’s all-around disaster of a physical state. The coffee stains aside, he’s pitting out from all the running and his hair is probably damp with sweat, too.

“Man, I don’t envy you,” Derek says. “I mean, she’s hot and all, but… is it even worth it? The least she could do is spread her—”

“ _Have a nice morning,_ ” Samuel bites out through a strained smile that is mostly clenched teeth as the elevator finally stops at C.P.C.’s floor and the doors open. Thankfully so, because if Derek had gotten the chance to finish the rest of his sentence, Samuel would have decked him square in the jaw, job be damned.

He stalks down the corridor, briskly passing the stares he gets from a few of the employees standing around and nodding his hello at those who graciously choose to ignore his appearance. When he reaches his desk, he deposits the coffee cup on top of it and checks his watch as he blindly leans down and opens his bottom drawer. Four minutes to eight. He’s got this, especially if he multitasks. He puts his wireless headset in his ear and presses play on his missed messages.

Samuel’s always been a well-prepared guy; it’s ingrained in him by having grown up with his mom and brother, both two irresponsible people in their own rights. And while that had been a headache to deal with back home, he’s grateful for it now as he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out the spare suit and bag of toiletries he makes a point of leaving in there, darting off to the bathroom to freshen up. He mentally counts down the time as he yanks his clothes off, puts on a fresh layer of deodorant, gets re-dressed and then sticks his head underneath the hand dryer to do something about the sweat, all the while listening to the voicemails playing in his ear and making mental notes of what new meetings, calls, and developments he needs to bring up with Carla when she comes in. He’s already got her schedule for the day memorized: it’s pretty much free, but she’s a workaholic. He doesn’t doubt that she’ll end up staying late at the office tonight, just like she always does. 

Because while she always arrives on time, she never actually _leaves_ the job on time. Sometimes Samuel stays an extra hour or so himself just so he can get a head start on stuff for the next day, but when he knocks on Carla’s door and says goodnight, she always looks deeply-embroiled in her work. He doesn’t know how long she stays after the lights go off. Part of him would suspect she might even live here, were it not for the fact that she walks in every morning looking like she’s come straight out of a modeling catalogue.

Today is no different as she strolls into her office at exactly eight o’clock, Samuel waiting in front of her desk with the coffee that he’d managed to microwave at the last second, a stack of papers, and a polite smile of greeting he hopes belies the fact that he’s been moving around like a Category 5 hurricane. Her hair is falling in a soft wave over one shoulder, sliding along the lapel of her black trench coat that he has no doubt is hiding some sort of tight-fitting but nonetheless tasteful designer dress. She doesn’t smile back, painted lips remaining in their normal neutral position, but she does offer him a nod and sweeps her eyes over him as she takes the coffee from his hand. 

Samuel tries very hard not to fidget. Not because he’s particularly frightened of her, unlike most people, but because there’s one thing Derek had gotten right, no matter how crude he was being: Carla Rosón is, without a doubt, _hot._

“What’s on the agenda today?” She asks him as she walks around to her desk and shrugs out of her coat—sleeveless navy blue dress, hugging her hips and cinched tight around her waist by a skinny, diamond-studded belt; _classy_ , he’d been correct—before tapping the spacebar on her computer’s keyboard to wake the monitor up. 

“You’ve got a conference call with the Los Angeles branch in thirty minutes, a staff meeting at ten, and Amelia Parker sent the final draft of her latest book in,” Samuel says, brandishing the papers in his hand. “I printed out a physical back-up copy just in case. And your immigration attorney called this morning, he said that he needed to talk to you.”

“Push the call and meeting back closer to noon,” she says, accepting the manuscript and lowering herself into her desk chair. “My lawyer didn’t say anything else?”

He shakes his head. “Just that it was urgent.”

She rolls her eyes a little. “If it was urgent, he’d have left more of a message.” Samuel doesn’t disagree, but it’s not like she’s looking for his affirmation, so he stays quiet. Carla exhales a sigh. “I’ll call him at lunch if I’m free. Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Samuel,” she says, and he’s worked with her long enough to know that it’s also a dismissal. He turns to leave, but then she speaks up again. “Did you have a late night last night? You look tired.”

He winces and resists the urge to rub the back of his neck. There’s no use in lying; like he said, she notices everything. “Kind of, yes.”

Carla hums a neutral sound, taking her eyes off of him to look back at her computer screen. Her face is just as unreadable as her tone of voice. “Partying?”

“Oh, no,” he replies, somewhat surprised. He almost wants to laugh—as if he had the time to party. “My neighbor asked if I could watch her kids for her and she got off really late.”

“Is she a single mother?”

“Yeah, I try to help her out whenever I can. Mine was a single mom too, and I know it’s not easy.” Carla doesn’t react to that, still scanning something on the screen before her. Samuel hesitates, and this time he doesn’t resist the urge to bring his hand up to his nape. “Actually, she’s the one who wrote that book I’ve been recommending to you. Have you gotten a chance to look over the manuscript?”

Finally, her eyes tick over to him. “I haven’t yet, no.” 

His heart sinks a little. He understands that she’s busy, but it’s a _great_ book, and he’s not just saying that because the royalties will help out his neighbor and her family a great deal were she to get published. Especially by a company as esteemed as C.P.C. is.

“I just received an e-mail from Byron Brians,” she continues, effectively changing the subject. It must’ve been what she was reading. “He finally agreed to do publicity.”

Samuel blinks. “What is that, the first time in almost thirty years?” She nods, and while her lips barely move, her eyes are lit up. “That’s great news.”

“Mm. The only thing is that he refuses to fly to New York—he hates planes. We could just arrange everything over Skype, but he’s old and it’s amazing he even managed to send me this e-mail. I’d rather do this in public anyway, given that it’s been such a long time since he’s shown his face. It’ll be good for the company. You and I will fly out to Seattle, get everything started and settled, then come back. Would you book the flight and hotel arrangements? I’m thinking we’ll go Monday, come back by Thursday or Friday, the latest.”

His heart sinks all the more as he stares at Carla, at a loss for words. He opens and closes his mouth but they don’t come, and finally she looks back up at him, an eyebrow arched.

“Is there a problem?”

“N-no, of course not, it’s just…” He swallows, ignoring the thick whirl of disappointment clouding his chest. “I had a trip planned for this week, but I can cancel it.”

“I gave you a whole week off?” She asks, eyes widened in shock, if only fractionally.

He’d been surprised, too. So surprised—and grateful—that he hadn’t asked twice about it when he brought it up a month ago. Figures.

“It’s my friend from back home’s birthday. We were going to meet at his family’s lake house in Tahoe, but it’s fine, I’ll call and let him know I can’t make it.”

She watches him for a long moment, then nods her head. “Okay. I have something I need to do in five minutes that I might need your help with. I’ll come get you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Samuel says, trying his best to not sound so forlorn, and walks out. He sinks into the leather chair at his desk right in front of her office, exhaling a long, if not quiet, breath. Shit. Guzmán’s going to be so pissed that he’s missing the annual lake trip— _again_. He got lucky a handful of years ago when Carla had been preoccupied by a client coming into town; she’d let him have a few days off, something he thought had been really weird but rare enough that he didn’t question it. He thought the same thing might’ve been happening this time around, but guess not.

He’s going to have to call Guzmán, and then he’s going to receive an explosive earful about quitting and how much of an unfeeling, ice cold woman Carla is, and then Samuel’s going to get into a fight with him because he always feels compelled to defend her even though she’s the direct reason why he hasn’t returned to Madrid in five years, why he’s missing his nieces grow up.

Honestly, he isn’t sure why he doesn’t just quit. It’s not like he couldn’t find a job elsewhere. Maybe it’s all the time and hard-work he’s put in here, maybe it’s because he can _taste_ the position of editor, and he doesn’t want all of that to be flushed down the drain. 

Whatever it is, now he has a phone call to make. It’d probably be easier to call Nadia or Ander, the only two out of his group of friends who are less likely to blow up on him, but it’d also be way more rude. He settles on doing it when he goes home; he doesn’t need to get into an argument at the office.

For now, he cancels his flight to California tomorrow and books two first-class tickets to Seattle for him and Carla on Monday, then side-by-side rooms at the Four Seasons. He’s just reading over his own e-mails when he gets a whiff of jasmine and citrus and looks up to find Carla coming to a stop at his desk, an eyebrow arched and her coffee in hand.

“Who’s Eva and why is she giving me her number?”

Samuel frowns. “What?”

Carla turns the cup in her palm so that he can read the message scrawled on the side. Damn it, he forgot about that. 

“Oh, that must be my cup. I’m sorry.”

“Why am I drinking your coffee?”

“Well… because I spilled yours outside on accident.”

She hums. “And your go-to order is a soy milk latte with cinnamon and honey,” she says flatly, “which also so happens to be mine.”

If Samuel didn’t know any better, he’d think she sounds amused. 

He blinks. “Uh, yeah. Definitely.”

In truth, it’s way too sweet and he kind of hates cinnamon outside of pastries, but he’s not about to admit to her that he buys two of her preferred order just in case something disastrous like earlier occurs and she’s left without a coffee. 

Carla’s lips twist. _If Samuel didn’t know any better,_ he’d think it’s a smile.

“Come on,” she says, stepping away from his desk. Samuel scrambles up from his seat, taking a few long strides until he falls into step with her. Stares and whispers follow them as they stride down the hall, but the employees suddenly shut up and studiously focus on their work as Carla turns her head in their direction, looks at them for all of a second, then begins to talk to Samuel. “So, are you going to call her?”

“Eva?” He asks needlessly. She just glances at him. “Oh, uh, I’m not sure.”

“Is she pretty?”

“She is. And she’s really nice, too. I like her.”

Once more, Carla is entirely unreadable as she says, “Then what’s not to be sure about?”

He sticks his hands in his pockets as they stop a few feet outside of a closed misty-glass door, and shrugs somewhat bashfully. It feels weird talking to Carla about this sort of thing for many reasons: because she’s his boss, because they hardly talk about anything personal at all, and probably because she’s _Carla,_ which is different from the boss category altogether. 

And probably because while he entertained the thought of calling Eva, of dating her, for some reason it doesn’t feel right. But he doesn’t say that.

“I haven’t had much time for dating recently,” he replies, smiling a bit ruefully, “and she deserves someone who can give her that.”

Carla searches his eyes wordlessly, and then she sucks in a small breath and gestures at the still-closed door. “We’re here to see Derek Eastman. Know him?”

“We’ve met,” Samuel answers, thinking: _unfortunately._

“Then you know how he is.” Again, unfortunately. “Nothing may happen, but you being here is just a precaution. For now, just stand silently behind me, alright?”

He nods in response, then follows Carla through the door.

Derek, in all his slimy glory, is perched on the edge of his desk when they come in, fiddling with the pure gold watch on his wrist as he talks to someone on the Bluetooth in his ear. He looks back at them once he hears the door open, his grin faltering for all but a second.

“Hey, I’ll call you back,” he says to the person he’s on a call with, then slips off his desk and turns around to face them. “If it isn’t our spear-heading editor-in-chief. What news do you have for me?”

Because he’s following her instructions and standing as still and quiet as a statue behind her, Samuel doesn’t see Carla’s face as she says, “I’m letting you go, Derek.”

However, he _does_ see Derek’s face—and sort of relishes in the multiple ridiculous expressions that flicker over it as he fails to absorb her words. “What?”

“I noticed some discrepancies in your paperwork and have been personally monitoring you since then. You’ve been embezzling money from this company for months, at least. Probably bought that watch with it, too.” She nods her head at the shiny, clunky thing on his wrist, and takes a step forward. Samuel straightens a bit, just to be ready, but he also thinks Carla’s got this. It’s more than a little impressive. “So it’s less of being let go, and more of being terminated. I’m firing you.”

It takes effort not to smile on Samuel’s part.

“I’ll let you tell everyone that you resigned, I won’t call the cops, I won’t even make you pay all the money back, as long as you leave here immediately. And quietly. Are we understood?” Samuel certainly doesn’t think Derek deserves that much, but he doesn’t say anything. Neither does Derek. Carla seems to take his silence as an answer in itself. “Great. I’ll give you fifteen minutes to collect your things.”

With that, she turns and stalks out the door, Samuel eyeing a spluttering Derek for a single moment before following her. 

But they don’t get very far.

“ _You fucking bitch!_ ” Derek roars, and Samuel watches as Carla stops abruptly, her shoulders stiffening. “You can’t fucking _fire me_ ”—which Samuel thinks is stupid; she _owns_ this company, of course she can—“I’m the best salesman you’ve got, you can’t just—”

Carla turns around, calm and collected. She almost looks as if she’s unaware of all the eyes that are currently on them, the other workers no longer pretending as if they aren’t watching this entire spectacle go down. 

“You aren’t, actually, the best salesman I’ve got. I was looking at your numbers _because_ they’re so low, and that’s how I found out you’ve been stealing money right out from under my nose. Next time you want to be a criminal, I suggest you try harder at it, and less at being an obnoxious, sexist creep. I should have fired you the moment I took over this branch, but I didn’t, and that’s my mistake.”

She takes a few steps forward. Derek’s still standing a foot or so out of his now former office’s doorway, face red and pinched, chest heaving.

“I gave you the chance to leave this company with your dignity still intact,” she continues, “and now you’re just making even more of an embarrassment out of yourself. Leave now, or I’ll have Samuel call security to escort you out.”

“You’re just bitter,” Derek spits out, ignoring her warning and coming closer. “ _Lonely._ You don’t have any fucking friends, anyone who loves you, and so you treat us all like your tiny little pawns, but you know what—?”

Derek abruptly shuts up as Samuel’s fist makes contact with his jaw, sending him crumpling to the ground. 

He stands over him, fists still clenched because he’s ready to hit this asshole again—he _wants_ to hit this asshole again—but also because he’s so angry, he’s shaking. 

“I should’ve done that in the elevator,” Samuel growls, leaning down a little. “You heard her. Leave. _Now_ , or else I’m throwing you out myself.”

Derek spits blood and a few teeth onto the carpet. Samuel can’t bring himself to feel all that bad about it, the fucking prick, and just watches with hard eyes as Derek hauls himself to his feet, swears something else under his breath, and storm off towards the elevator. 

When Samuel slowly turns around, he glares at everyone staring at them. The sounds of papers being shuffled, keyboards being typed on, or office machines beeping and whirring suddenly fill the space as employees return to their jobs. Samuel walks back over to Carla, who hasn’t moved an inch. She’s staring at the bloodstain on the gray carpet, and he bends his head low, keeps his voice even lower.

“Miss Rosón, are you okay?”

She doesn’t immediately answer, but she jumps—literally so, albeit slightly—out of her reverie when he places two fingers on her arm. 

“I’m fine,” she says, and to anyone who hasn’t worked by her side for the past five years, it would probably be believable. 

Samuel doesn’t call her out on it, though, and Carla turns on her heel and heads back in the direction of her office. He doesn’t try to catch up with her, mostly because he knows she wants space, but also because he needs to cool off himself. That asshole had no right to say any of that. Carla gave him the chance to leave with his head held high, and all he did was spit dirty, personal insults at her. In front of everyone else, no less.

Samuel’s sure the office gossip is having a field day right now. He’s just glad that they normally leave him out of the loop, always afraid that he’ll spy on them on Carla’s behalf. Otherwise, he’s certain he’d be getting into a lot more fights right now.

He slumps into his desk chair with a heavy breath, wincing as he lifts his hand up to inspect it. His knuckle is already swelling up. Whatever, it’d been worth it.

The phone suddenly starts ringing, and he picks it up immediately, holding it to his ear. “Carla Rosón’s office.”

“Samuel, it’s Martín in legal. Would you mind sending her up here? She’s not currently busy, is she?”

He refrains from sighing; she needs some time to herself, but it’s not like he can lie, either. “No, she’s free. I’ll let her know right now.”

“Thanks so much.”

Martín hangs up, and Samuel reluctantly pushes himself up from his desk. He knocks on Carla’s open door to announce himself, allotting a few extra seconds just in case she needs them, and then sticks his head inside.

Carla doesn’t appear to be any less put-together than she normally does. She also isn’t working, however, but standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows and staring out at the view of New York City on display, seemingly lost in thought, and that alone lets him know that she is not put-together at all. She never stops working.

He feels guilty as he softly clears his throat to get her attention. Carla doesn’t jump again, but she does turn her head slightly to indicate that she’s listening to him.

“Martín called. He wants to see you upstairs.”

She fixes her gaze out the window once more, and Samuel waits patiently. When she finally faces him, she’s got one arm folded over her middle, the other perpendicular to it so that her hand is over her mouth, finger brushing over her bottom lip. She releases a quiet sigh.

“They probably want to talk about Derek. Convince me to press charges.”

“You should,” Samuel says without any hesitation, even though it isn’t his place.

Carla doesn’t address that, instead dropping her arms and walking over to him. “Come get me with an excuse in ten minutes, will you? I don’t want to deal with that headache for any longer than I have to.”

He’s unable to keep the gentle understanding out of his voice as he replies, “Of course.”

He expects her to leave then, but she stays right where she is. She glances down. Her expression finally shifts infinitesimally, but it’s still as indecipherable as ever. 

Then she surprises him by reaching out and lifting his hand in hers, fingers soft against his palm. 

“You should get some ice for this,” she murmurs.

“Yes, ma’am,” Samuel says just as lowly, and when she leaves the room, he finds himself releasing his held breath. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think we all agree that derek should die for that!!!
> 
> anyway other characters will start showing up soon, thanks for reading!


	2. take thee, carla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer because i forgot to mention before that carla and samuel are (and only ever have since he’s been hired) exclusively speaking english to each other. it doesn’t make sense for them to speak in spanish when not everyone is going to understand them, plus that just implies a sort of intimacy they haven’t achieved (yet!). but this will all change of course - though only narratively, because obviously im going to keep writing in english lol
> 
> (hooray for quick updates!)

_Bitter. Lonely._

Carla’s always hated the elevators in this damn building. She hates them, hates how slow they are, and hates that right now, she’s currently stuck in one with nothing else but her thoughts.

_You don’t have any fucking friends, anyone who loves you._

And she especially hates that what Derek said is getting to her. 

It’s not like he’s the type of guy whose opinion should even mean something to her. He’s a sleazy, flashy show-off who Carla knows for a fact has been cheating on his pregnant wife far longer than she’s been carrying their child, and besides that, he’s just a general, run-of-the-mill bigot. Not to mention how he’d been stealing thousands of dollars from Carla and her company; she shouldn’t be putting stock in anything he says at all. It just sounds hypocritical, coming from him.

But… it also sounds true. And that’s why she’s so bothered by it.

Five years ago, she became C.E.O. of Caleruega Publishing Company, and five years ago, she moved to New York—essentially to make this branch her headquarters, but especially because it was far, far away from her parents and any of their fucking manipulation and mind games. She left Madrid just to get away from them. And while she can’t say her life was any happier there than it is here, it was still her _home._

New York is foreign to her, even after all this time. She doesn’t know streets, she hardly recognizes buildings, and the only faces she knows are the ones she’s encountered at or because of work. She was lonely in Madrid, yes, but at least she had the comfort of the city she grew up in surrounding her; here, she has nothing but a corner office and a cold, penthouse apartment.

She’s considered moving back a few times, running back to her parents despite everything they’ve forced her through, and that’s just a special brand of fucked up, isn’t it? Returning to people who have caused her so much psychological trauma just because their abuse is something that’s _familiar,_ and she’s so desperate to feel anything but empty and lonely that she’d even remotely consider the thought. But thankfully, she stopped entertaining that self-destructive urge when her father visited her by surprise two years ago, and she’d finally accepted that anything is better than being under his thumb again, even if it meant dying early and alone in a city she despises.

Still, she had to take work off for a week, after that.

Carla breathes out a rough sigh, fingers digging into her biceps where her arms are crossed over her chest, and angrily glares at the wooden wall across from her. These elevators couldn’t have at least been built with a window so she’d still have the view to distract her?

Her mental question is answered by the sudden _ding_ of the elevator, signifying her arrival as the doors finally part for her. She steps out, her mask already slid back into place, and the receptionist sitting behind the long desk looks like a deer caught in headlights as she offers Carla a fake-cheerful greeting and informs her that Martín is waiting for her in his office in much the same manner. It’s something Carla’s gotten used to over the years; mostly everyone who works for her looks and talks to her just like this. 

In fact, she thinks the only person who _doesn’t_ is Samuel. But he’s always been different, even from day one.

Carla had been personally involved in hiring him. How could she not, he was being vetted to become her assistant; it’s not like she was just going to blindly accept anybody for a role so vital to her own. Honestly, his résumé didn’t really stick out all that much from the others; he had experience in office work—then again, they _all_ had experience—but he’d never specifically worked for a publishing house before, and she was pretty sure he didn’t know what position he was applying for and didn’t even care, at that. He’d just seemed desperate for a job.

She was two seconds away from tossing his résumé to the side, really, and then she saw that he was Spanish. And not just that, but from Madrid. Born and raised. Just like her.

Carla had called him in for an interview the following morning.

Of course, that hadn’t solely been enough to make up her mind. Neither had the fact that he was cute, nor his warm eyes and the way they crinkled until she could no longer see them from behind his lashes when he smiled at her and shook her hand. 

She does have to admit, though: hearing him speak had been a selling point. Spanish accents are not uncommon in New York, not by a long shot, but there was something else about knowing that this one came from home, something that was immediately comforting to her; a brief balm against the freezer burn this place had left on her the moment she stepped off the plane. The way his voice curled around the words _Miss Rosón_ thrilled Carla, who had started to resign herself on growing used to the people already working in this office butchering her name with their American accents.

Luckily, Samuel also seemed like he was actually competent, if not a little green behind the ears. And now she’s sure she couldn’t have hired anyone else more effective at their job than he. Not once has he failed her in the past five years, so she doesn’t doubt that in exactly ten minutes to the very second, he’ll be up here to save her from this ordeal just like she had asked. 

He’s loyal like that. She wonders if that loyalty is why he’d punched Derek on her behalf, or because of something different altogether.

She doesn’t let herself linger on that thought as she approaches Martín’s office. She can see glimpses of him through the open door, and he looks pensive, pinching the bridge of his nose before nodding his head at someone sitting opposite him. When she steps inside and they both turn their attention on her, Carla recognizes the other person as Begoña Benavent, one of the board of directors.

And, unfortunately, a close friend of her mom and dad. Carla feels her stomach twist, but she doesn’t let her sudden apprehension show on her face as she returns Begoña’s tight-lipped smile and nods her head at Martín.

“Carla. Good morning,” he says in a warm tone belying how he looked just seconds before. 

“Morning, Martín. Begoña.”

He gestures at the chair on Begoña’s left. “Please. Take a seat.”

She does, and the older woman reaches over and touches Carla’s knee, leaning in close. “You look great, dear. How have you been?”

The question makes Carla feel small, and she thinks it’s largely in part because it’s coming from a woman who has known her _since_ she was small, and who, perhaps, will run right to her parents the moment they’re done here and fill them in on everything she might’ve been able to discern of Carla and her life from this little meeting. Begoña’s always been calculating, observant; and Carla notes how that hasn’t changed one bit as the woman’s dark, beady eyes search her for something to latch onto and quietly judge.

Carla refuses to give her any ammunition.

“I’ve been well,” she answers, mask on and walls up. 

Begoña nods sagely. “Busy, I can imagine.”

Carla offers her another tight-lipped smile, albeit tighter now. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Speaking of handling, we heard about that salesman,” Begoña says. Ah, there it is.

“Well, news certainly travels fast,” Carla replies, trying to keep her annoyance out of her voice.

The woman shrugs, dismissive. “Interoffice gossip, there’s really no helping it. Although, they do like to embellish. What are they saying, Martín? That there was a… physical altercation?”

Martín winces, opens his mouth to answer, but Carla speaks before he can.

“Like I said,” she starts, voice steady but nonetheless steely, “it was nothing I can’t handle.”

“Actually, I believe it was your assistant who handled it, according to what the employees are saying.”

Carla feels her brows beginning to pinch together, but before she can retort, Martín abruptly cuts in.

“Right,” he says a little too lightly, clearing his throat and glancing between the both of them. “Carla, we didn’t actually call you here to gossip ourselves, but to discuss something serious that’s come up.”

“If you’re going to try to convince me to press charges against Derek, then—”

“No,” he interrupts, sounding grim, “that isn’t it.”

Carla’s frown deepens, because if it’s not about that, then what could possibly be so important to warrant a sudden, in-person meeting with both her _and_ a member of the board? 

“Your immigration lawyer contacted me this morning. He tried to get a hold of you, said he left a message, but you didn’t return his call,” Martín tells her before hesitating. He looks at her, then heaves a reluctant sigh, as if he’s about to rip off a band-aid. “Carla, your visa is being revoked.”

She blinks at him, blood gone cold and quiet in her veins.

“I’m sorry.” She can’t be hearing him correctly. “What?”

“The government received an anonymous tip that this company was embezzling money. And, as you know, people who are in the U.S. on visas cannot be accused of or held accountable for any crime if they want to _stay_ in the U.S.”

“This is ridiculous. _Derek_ was the one stealing money, not me—”

Martín shakes his head. “But the tip wasn’t on Derek. It was on you.” He almost seems apologetic as he reiterates, “You’re being deported back to Spain.”

Nothing is said for several moments. Carla can feel Begoña’s eyes boring into the side of her head and refuses to turn to see if the woman’s lips are curled into a satisfied little smirk. She doesn’t have to, anyway; she knows it’s there, but moreover, Carla can’t bring herself to move even an inch. Her body feels as if rigor mortis has set in, regardless of the fact that her heart is beating a mile a minute within her rib cage.

She can’t go back to Madrid. No matter how much she misses home, it’s also where her parents are, and she can’t be near them, can’t be under their influence again. She refuses to. She _can’t._

“They can’t deport me. I haven’t done anything wrong,” Carla snaps, hating how she sounds like a petulant child as she says it. 

“I know that, and we’re going to be contesting this in court, believe me. But while that’s happening along with the investigation, you can’t be in the States. You’ll have to wait in Spain for your name to be cleared, and once that happens, you can reapply for a visa again.”

“And who’s going to run this branch while I’m gone, huh?” 

“Me,” Begoña answers, calm. Carla finally manages to whip her head in her direction, staring at the woman incredulously. At that _fucking_ smirk. “Don’t worry, Carla, I’ll take care of this branch. In the meantime, you can work at the Madrid office.”

“That’s my father’s headquarters,” she says, voice quiet so that they can’t hear how it shakes.

“Well, I’m sure he’d welcome you home with open arms.” Begoña pats her knee knowingly. _Condescendingly._

And suddenly, Carla has the gut feeling that this entire ordeal had been orchestrated by her father himself. She’s not speaking to her parents, refuses to see them or return their calls, and so he’s trying to force her hand. Force her to come back to them. 

She’s fucking sick and tired of being outplayed by him. _Used_ by him. Because that’s what this is and she knows it—he’s going to use this as an excuse to usurp the company back from her, leaving her powerless. Powerless against him, like always. 

Carla curls her hands into fists, refuses to cry, and doesn’t jump when there’s a sudden knock on the door.

All three of them turn to look at Samuel, who’s partially leaning inside of the room. He falters a bit under the attention, then fixes those gentle eyes of his on her. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Miss Rosón, I have Byron Brians on hold right now. He wants to discuss the publicity schedule, and I’m afraid he might back out entirely if we don’t clarify some things, so…”

He makes a vague, awkward gesture behind him, something she knows he wouldn’t have done if he wasn’t lying. But she doesn’t think about that; all she thinks about is the fact that he’s here to bail her out, like she’d asked him to. 

Her eyes catch on the reddened knuckle beneath his ring finger, and all she thinks about is _loyalty._

“I’m getting married,” Carla blurts out.

“Excuse me?” Begoña gapes at her, caught off guard, at the same time as Martín asks, “You’re what?”

Carla swallows, knows she can’t back out now that she’s made her bed, and slowly begins to stand. “I’m getting married,” she repeats, looking between the both of them before gazing over her shoulder at her utterly confused assistant. “To Samuel.”

“Uh…?” He says, rather ineloquently. 

“We’re getting married,” she states, firmer now, and widens her eyes at Samuel in what she hopes he understands means _play along._

“Uh.”

Evidently, he does not.

Carla sidesteps her chair and walks over to him, and with her back to both Martín and Begoña, mouths the words to him. _Go with it. Please._

She hooks her hand in his elbow and tugs him further into the room, and he goes easily, shock making his limbs completely loose. Pressing herself close to him, and trying not to linger on how good he always smells, Carla rests her hand on his arm and squeezes it. She prays it just looks like an affectionate touch between a couple to the two people staring dumbfoundedly at them and not, in actuality, Carla trying to nudge Samuel into just _saying something_ already. 

He still doesn’t get the hint, anyway, so Carla digs within her for the charming, smiling girl she used to pretend to be at all of those damned parties her mom and dad would flaunt her at, and releases a convincing laugh.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just a little surprised because we wanted to keep it a secret for as long as we possibly could.” She looks up at Samuel, puts all the meaning she can muster into her gaze, and subtly nudges him with her elbow just in case that still doesn’t work. “Right, babe?”

Carla reaches up, beaming fake-fondly, and brushes back the short strands of hair curling at his temple with her fingertips.

“Babe,” Samuel echoes, still looking and sounding shell-shocked. In fact, he’s got that same deer-in-headlights expression the receptionist out front had offered to Carla when she stepped off the elevator. “Right.”

Martín, whose face has been pulled into a frown since the moment Carla made her announcement, opens his mouth to speak, but Begoña steamrolls right over him.

“Isn’t he your secretary?” She asks, bewildered. 

“Assistant,” Carla corrects her. 

“And you two.” Begoña’s voice is flat with disbelief as she indicates the both of them with a manicured finger. “You’re together.”

Carla raises her eyebrows in a challenge. “Engaged, yes.”

Begoña blinks for a moment, then barks a surprised, sardonic laugh. “Well, I guess that explains why he reacted so violently to the salesman, right, Martín?”

He doesn’t reply to her, and instead addresses Carla, words slow like he’s still trying to wrap his head around what she’s just told them. “Well, uh… I suppose congratulations are in order, but I don’t see how this changes anything.” 

“Samuel and I are getting married, so they can’t deport me,” Carla says simply.

Martín just looks even more confused. “Isn’t he Spanish, too?”

 _Shit._ She didn’t think of that, _damn it—_

But that question, for some reason, seems to snap Samuel out of some of his stupor. “I have dual citizenship.”

Carla feels a wave of relief wash over her, although she’s sure her expression doesn’t shift even a fraction.

“Dual citizenship,” Begoña repeats, again, flatly. 

“My mother was born in Spain.” He sounds as if he’s speaking automatically, like a pre-recorded voicemail. “But my father was born here. In America.”

Once more, Carla squeezes his arm, this time out of gratitude. She looks back at the others. “Exactly.” Repeats, “So they can’t deport me.”

As Martín seems to make sense of that, he straightens in his chair a little. “Carla, you do realize how convenient this all sounds.”

“It _is_ convenient,” she nods, then lists even further into Samuel’s side, sliding her hand down his arm so that she can intertwine their fingers. “But it’s also the truth. We’re in love.”

Samuel’s palm is very sweaty where it’s pressed against her own.

“The government is going to want to investigate,” Begoña points out the obvious.

“Let them,” she replies flippantly, ignoring how Samuel stiffens a bit. “They’re already going to anyway, what with that false anonymous tip. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.” 

She knows her façade falls somewhat as her eyes flash and she adds to the room in general but Begoña in particular, “I’m not going back to Madrid.” _To my father_.

“Okay,” Martín hedges, “but Carla, with you being investigated for embezzlement, you still can’t head the company in the meantime. It’ll be a scandal. We could lose clients.”

Her stomach drops a little at that, but she makes sure not to let it show, nodding firmly. “I understand that. Like you said, I’ll wait for my name to be cleared. Only I’ll wait it out here, in the States.”

Martín’s eyes flick between her and Samuel for several moments, before he finally raises his eyebrows and exhales a long breath. “Well, alright then. Begoña? Any objections?”

And because she can’t voice any of them without outright admitting that she’s here _because_ of Teodoro, Begoña just presses her lips into a thin white line and shakes her head. 

It’s Carla’s turn to smirk now.

Martín stands, smoothing the wrinkles out of his suit as he does. “I suggest getting down to the immigration office and informing them of your engagement immediately. 

“Of course,” Carla says, instantly dropping Samuel’s arm and putting a few inches of space between them now that she’s miraculously been _believed._ “So we’re done here?”

“I guess so.”

Carla nods and turns to go when Begoña speaks up. “Do your parents know of this wonderful news?” 

She doesn’t stiffen, but she does spare the woman a glance over her shoulder. “No, but I’m sure you’ll tell them for me.” 

With that, she walks out. Samuel dazedly follows behind her, and Carla makes sure to keep her pace no more brisk than usual as she heads to the elevators. When she steps inside, her eyes flit over the receptionist behind the desk—she’s still wide-eyed, but for a whole different reason now, and she’s got her mouth pressed close to her phone’s receiver as she stares back at them in shock.

Right, interoffice gossip. Of which Carla is always the headliner. 

Neither of them say anything as they’re taken back to their own floor. The ride feels way shorter than it had been on her way up, and as they step out amidst an array of gaping looks and whispers, Carla ignores them all and slips into planning mode. 

She and Samuel will go to the immigration office, say what needs to be said, file whatever paperwork needs to be filed, and have a quick marriage at the courthouse soon so that she can stay in New York. They’ll probably have to live together to keep up the pretense, but her apartment is certainly large enough for two people, and if anything, she can just buy a larger one so they have even more space to themselves. It’s not like they’ll have to be married for _long,_ anyway, just long enough for her father’s anonymous tip to be found a hoax and her visa to be reinstated, and then they can get a divorce, and everything can go back to her screwed-up version of normal—

Her thoughts are suddenly cut off as she’s yanked into an empty office, the door slamming shut behind her, and Carla scowls in indignation. Still, she keeps her voice low so that none of the people who are undoubtedly trying to listen outside can hear her as she snaps, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Samuel releases his hold on her wrist and looks at her as if she’s lost her mind. “ _Me?_ What are _you_ doing? What was that back there? We aren’t getting married, Carla!”

This is a very inopportune moment for her stomach to be fluttering over how he says her first name for the first _time,_ tongue curling around each consonant and vowel, accent a little thicker with his anger but no less exciting.

Carla shoves that unbidden thought down as she scowls harder. “Would you keep quiet?”

“You need to tell me what’s going on,” he says, eyes hard but nonetheless obeying her. “Why did you tell them we’re getting married?”

“You heard, you were there. If I didn’t, then I’d be getting deported right about now.”

He clenches his jaw, clearly losing his patience. “I don’t understand.”

Carla sighs, turning away from him and attempting to rub her growing headache away with her thumb between her eyebrows. She walks toward the windows and stares down at the fifteen-story drop below.

“I can’t go back to Madrid. Anything is better than going back there, even subjecting myself to a fake marriage,” she mutters, sensing Samuel coming to a stop behind her. She turns her head slightly so that she can see him in her peripheral. “And if it was necessary, I’d do even more.” 

He doesn’t say anything. She swallows. Blinks her sudden tears away and replaces them with pure resolve as she faces him. 

“So what will it take to convince you? Money? A promotion?” And even though the thought of losing his constant, comforting presence at her side makes her insides churn, she offers, “When my position is reinstated, I can make you an editor.”

Samuel stares at her, still silent. Carla tries not to lose her own patience, now. After all, he’s got the upper hand here, because if he decides to march back upstairs and tell them that everything had been a lie, she’s completely fucked. 

But Samuel doesn’t do that. Instead, he squares his jaw and steps closer to her, and Carla, unused to this intensity from him, finds her heart beating a little faster. Only, she’s not entirely sure it has to do with nerves over the fact that her fate is in his hands, not when she involuntarily finds herself glancing down at his lips before meeting his eyes again.

“You make me an editor,” he starts, “and you also publish that manuscript I’ve been asking you to read for months now.”

“I can’t just blindly publish a book,” she argues. “If it’s bad, the company’s reputation will tank.”

“It’s not bad. And if you would have read it by now, you’d know that.”

Carla searches his eyes, but they’re filled with a steely resolve of his own. “Why?” She eventually murmurs.

It’s not even a book _he_ wrote, but—who’d he say, his single mother neighbor? So, it’s exactly that: _why_ would he even care?

But then he answers, “Because she needs the money and the opportunity to make something of herself. She’s living in a shitty one-bedroom apartment with two sons. With the money, she can move, she won’t have to worry about finding last-minute babysitters, and she can put her kids through university. She’ll have a better life.”

Carla finds herself softening a little at his compassion. His selflessness. And then she just feels dirty for standing here and trying to take advantage of it.

Like she said, though. She made her bed, and now she has to lie in it.

“Okay.”

Samuel eyes her. “A promotion and you publish that book,” he reiterates.

“Yes, fine. Do we have a deal?”

His expression seems grim, but he nods his head. “Yeah. We do.”

She hopes the sigh of relief she can’t help but let out is subtle, at least.

“Good,” Carla says. “Now we just have to go downtown to make it official.”


	3. to be my lawfully wedded wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ms. romero is supposed to be the inspector from the show but since they never gave her a last name i had to make one up for her dkjfdkf
> 
> also from when they get to tahoe and on everyone is exclusively speaking spanish!

The government worker whose office they’d been shown to five minutes ago stares at them with an analyzing look on her face, and Samuel tries not to shift in his uncomfortable seat.

Beside him, Carla looks like she belongs next to the definition of the word _poised_ in the dictionary. He doesn’t know how she’s doing it. Honestly, it’s sort of driving him up the fucking wall.

“Engaged,” the worker, a bare-faced, middle-aged woman named Ms. Romero, repeats.

Carla licks her lips as if she’s tired of hearing people treat this with the disbelief it frankly deserves, folds her hands over her crossed legs, and smiles. Samuel’s still getting used to seeing it, even if he knows that it’s fake. “Yes, we’re engaged.”

“You’re marrying your assistant.” Well, at least she didn’t call him secretary. “Does anyone else know about this?”

“A member of my company’s board of directors and the head of our legal team,” Carla answers.

A tiny, humorless smile of her own tugs at Ms. Romero’s lips. “So, basically no one,” she says, and Samuel deliberately does not flinch. 

“We wanted to keep it a secret. Interoffice relationships are often frowned upon, and even though it’s _my_ company, we didn’t want it to seem like I was playing favorites,” Carla says, then reaches over and smooths her thumb over Samuel’s hand where it’s been pooling sweat on the armrest of his chair. “Especially because he has a big promotion coming up.”

The other woman mulls that over with a blank expression. “You haven’t even told your parents? Siblings?”

“I’m an only child, and I’m currently not on speaking terms with either of my parents.”

At that, Samuel finally takes his eyes off of Ms. Romero for the first time since they sat down to look at Carla. Her face hasn’t changed one bit, and her tone as she said it had been direct, matter-of-fact, with a touch of unbothered. Still, Samuel can’t help but wonder if her parents are the reason why she’s so desperate to avoid returning to Spain. And if that’s the case, what could have they possibly done to her to warrant that sort of reaction?

He’s never seen Carla desperate before. True, she’d barely shown any outward traces of it as they stood in that empty office he’d pulled her into, but Samuel has been at her elbow for the past five years. He’s learned to see the little things, and he knows that, if only for a brief second, he saw _fear_ flash in her eyes when she was telling him she would do anything to avoid going back home. 

He didn’t like it for one bit, and he’d be lying if he said that hadn’t also been a deciding factor in agreeing to this whole disastrous thing. It made him feel like something was gnawing at his gut. Oddly enough, it made him want to wrap her in a hug, something that wouldn’t be odd at all if she were actually his fiancée. 

But, well.

“And you, Mr. García,” Ms. Romero says, cutting her gaze to Samuel. “Are you also, conveniently, an only child who isn’t talking to their parents?”

“Well, not exactly, uh,” he starts, and _god,_ Carla probably couldn’t have picked a worse pretend future husband than him, in his opinion, “my dad left us when I was really young—my mom, brother, and I. My brother is currently in jail.”

It’s Carla’s turn to look at him in surprise now, though she’s doing a far better job at masking it. 

Ms. Romero asks, “And your mother?”

“She lives back in Madrid. We talk sparingly. I, um,” he winces, feeling guilty as he says it but it _is_ the truth, so, “I don’t really have much time to talk to her, honestly. Not with work and the time difference.”

“So she doesn’t know about the two of you, either, then.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry.”

Ms. Romero releases a short sigh. “Miss Rosón, Mr. García. You _are_ aware that, if you’re lying, you’re committing a felony punishable by a two-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollar fine and five years in federal prison, right?”

Samuel feels his mouth go dry. Of course, he knew this was all blatantly illegal. It just hits harder actually _hearing_ it. 

He feels Carla squeeze his hand gently. Whether it’s to comfort or warn him, he isn’t sure.

“I know how all of this sounds, but we aren’t lying,” she replies evenly.

“How all of this sounds,” Ms. Romero echoes, nodding her head and leaning back in her seat. “Let’s see, an anonymous caller informed us that you were embezzling money from your own company—an allegation that makes your visa invalid—and suddenly, you’re engaged to be married. A marriage that would allow you to stay here. And a marriage that nobody of importance in either of your lives is aware of, I might add.”

There’s a beat of silence. And then Carla says, “Well, we were going to tell his friends this week.”

Samuel’s eyes widen. He schools it just in time as both women turn to him.

“Is this true?” Ms. Romero asks him.

“Uh, yeah.” He swallows. Awkwardly clears his throat. “Yes, it is.”

The woman narrows her eyes. “Where were you planning to tell them? Here, in New York?”

When Carla squeezes his hand this time, he’s positive it has nothing to do with either comfort or a threat and everything to do with her silently communicating to him: _talk._

“No, actually, in Lake Tahoe. My friend has a house there that we all stay in, and since everyone was coming in from Madrid, we figured it was a perfect time. You know,” he says, darting his eyes to Carla and dredging up what she’d told Begoña and Martín earlier, “killing two birds with one stone.”

Carla smiles at him, probably because he’d done a fairly good job at lying. Hell, he’d surprised himself, even. 

“California. Clear across the other side of the country,” Ms. Romero states. Samuel nods his head. “And you were going to leave, when…?”

“Tomorrow.” 

Carla blinks, clearly caught off-guard by that, but says amicably, “Yes, tomorrow.”

“How long are you going to be out there for?”

“It’s a week-long trip,” Carla answers on his behalf. “We’ve had it planned for, what, months now, no?”

Samuel nods at her as she looks at him with raised eyebrows, and he thinks of how she’d forgotten she even gave him the week off. She’s an incredible liar, honestly; even he finds himself believing her. 

Ms. Romero regards them for what feels like an excruciating amount of time to Samuel, before her gaze suddenly turns stern and piercing. “Fine, but let me tell you what’s going to happen when you come back,” she begins. “The both of you will be _thoroughly_ vetted to see if you’re actually being honest. I’ll put either of you in separate rooms, where I will ask you a series of personal questions about one another that two people who are actually romantically involved should know the answers to. Barring that, I’ll also look into your phone records, talk to your neighbors, your co-workers. If there’s _anything_ that doesn’t add up, anything at all… Miss Rosón, you will be deported back to Spain, and you, Mr. García, will be headed straight to federal prison. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Carla says automatically, but Samuel just stares.

Ms. Romero latches onto his silence, leaning forward. “Mr. García, I’m giving you one final opportunity to come clean here without any repercussions. Is there anything you want to tell me?” 

He runs it all over in his mind. Personal questions about Carla Rosón? He’s sure he could answer every single one of them in his sleep. He only regularly talks to one of his neighbors, and it’s not like he burdens her with a day-by-day of his work life, let alone his non-existent romantic one. And he’s sure that Carla isn’t particularly close to any of her own, either. The co-workers thing is no issue. They see Carla as an unfeeling bitch, and they see _Samuel_ as an unfeeling bitch’s lapdog. 

He almost wants to laugh. Could this actually fucking work?

Ms. Romero looks at him imploringly. She has a trustworthy face, he thinks. Kind and a little tired, like she’s worked hard every day of her life, and Samuel recognizes it as the same sort of face he sees in the mirror every morning. He wonders if she has very little else outside of this job. He wonders if they share the same dedication to their careers, too. 

Samuel shakes his head. “No, I don’t,” he answers resolutely, looking at Carla and flipping his palm so that they can entwine their fingers together. “I understand the consequences.”

Carla smiles at him, and Samuel knows for sure that—despite the fact that it’s made to look like it’s full of love; despite the fact that it has nothing to do with love whatsoever, but _relief—_ it’s real. 

And it sort of makes his stomach flip.

Ms. Romero glances between them for all of a second more before shuffling around her desk for paperwork, shaking her head to herself and exhaling a disappointed breath. 

“If this is how it’s going to go, I will see the both of you next Monday at ten a.m. for your interviews.” She holds out a sheath of papers, and as Samuel takes them from her, fixes him and Carla with another sharp glare of warning. “For both of your sakes, you better pass with flying colors.”

Carla stands gracefully, her hand falling back at her side. Samuel sticks his own in his pocket as he follows suit, shoving down the sensation of missing the touch—the same that had struck him when she released him in Martín’s office—in favor of offering Ms. Romero a final smile.

“I think we’ll manage,” he says, full of false bravado that immediately leaves him moments later when he and Carla are finally back within the safe confines of her town car. He slumps over in his seat and runs his hands through his hair, jittery from adrenaline, and doesn’t make out whatever Carla mutters to her driver before she settles next to Samuel.

“So,” she starts casually as the car pulls away from the curb, “that went well.”

“Miraculously,” Samuel responds, then eyes her dubiously. She’s still nothing but the perfect picture of composure, and he wonders if she really isn’t freaking out about any of this at all, or if she’s simply waiting until she’s completely alone to break. The thought kind of makes him uneasy. 

She arches an eyebrow at him when she notices him looking. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says before shifting in his seat. “It’s just… are you used to this type of thing, or…?”

“‘This type of thing’?”

“Lying.”

A small smile graces Carla’s lips. It’s pretty, even though he knows it’s also making fun of how naive he sounds. 

But then she speaks, and he realizes the smile is just sad.

Carla lowers her gaze. “More than I probably should be,” she says so quietly, it’s almost to herself. 

Samuel’s hand twitches in a knee-jerk reaction to take hers again, but he fights the impulse and instead tries to lighten the mood. “Well, I don’t even cheat weighing fruit at the supermarket.”

That actually gets a laugh out of Carla; a quiet one, more of a huff than anything, really—but it’s still the first time he’s heard such a noise coming from her, and it weirdly makes him feel like he’s achieved something far more monumental than a promotion. Her smile also seems less sad now, and he grins with her.

“I don’t know whether to find that endearing or just a little pathetic,” she says, more teasing than outright mean. 

“Both,” he supplies, and she chuckles again. That triumphant feeling doesn’t leave him even as Carla turns her head to gaze out the window and a comfortable silence falls over them. 

A few minutes pass, however, before she breaks it. “You should probably book the flight now.”

Five years of being her personal assistant has him reflexively jumping at her command, digging into his pocket for his phone and scheduling two first-class tickets for the both of them. She runs through a checklist of other things that she needs him to tie up for her before they leave, and he nods along, marking them down in his phone before she announces, “we’re here,” and he glances out the window only to find himself looking up at his own apartment building. 

Huh. When did she tell the driver his address? He wasn’t aware Carla even knew where he lived.

Still, he manages to shake off his surprise enough to clamber out of the car, knowing that he’s clearly being dismissed. When he shuts the door behind him, the window rolls down, and he turns to look at her through it.

“I’ll meet you at the airport at nine-thirty tomorrow morning,” she says more to her own cell phone than to him as she scrolls the thing in her hand. “We’ll go over what we need to about the interviews on the plane. Don’t be late.”

He wants to sigh. For a second there, he started to think that maybe they were getting somewhere in terms of being equals. But he supposes he’s still her assistant for as long as it takes him to carry out on his side of the deal and slip a ring onto her finger.

“Alright,” he answers, turning to go.

“And, Samuel?”

He stops and faces her. “Yeah?” 

“Thank you.”

It’s not like he isn’t used to hearing her say the words; he just isn’t used to them being said with what he can only describe as vulnerability, and all he can do is give her a wordless nod before the car drives away.

*

Samuel has experienced an overwhelming amount of firsts in the past twenty-four hours alone, and watching Carla fidget on the plane is certainly one of them.

Well, he wouldn’t _exactly_ classify it as fidgeting; she isn’t constantly shifting or drumming her fingers or anything like that. In fact, all she’s doing is staring out the window as they make their ascent into the air, but there’s definitely a restless quality surrounding her. And even though he knows that he wouldn’t be able to just discern it from her physical appearance alone—she looks as effortlessly beautiful as ever—he wonders if she got any sleep at all last night.

He certainly didn’t. He probably won’t on the plane, either; not with being so hyper aware of Carla’s mood beside him. At least it’s only a six hour flight.

Maybe she can use a distraction. “Should we go over the questions now?”

Carla turns away from the window, blinking as if she’d been lost in thought. As always, though, she recovers quickly. “Sure.”

Nodding, Samuel reaches into his bag at his feet and pulls out the packet Ms. Romero had given them yesterday, handing it to Carla. “I was reading through them last night. Now, the good news is that _I_ know enough about you to pass, but the bad news is that you have a week to memorize all this about me.”

“You know the answers to all of these questions?” Carla asks as she flips through the packet. 

He hums in the affirmative, and when that tiny, skeptical furrow between her eyebrows doesn’t disappear, he leans over and taps the first question he sees—something pertaining to the types of allergies your partner has, if any.

“Raw fish,” he answers, easily and confidently.

Carla rolls her eyes a little. “That’s hardly a challenge. You’ve taken my meal orders almost every day for the past five years.”

“Fine,” he concedes, leaning in closer to scan the line of text from over her shoulder. It takes everything in him not to inhale that familiar scent of jasmine and citrus lingering on her skin. “Childhood pet. You never had one, but you’ve always wanted a cat. Long-haired breeds are your favorite.”

“How do you know that?”

Samuel looks up to find her already staring back at him, and pauses for a moment when he also realizes that they’re incredibly close—he can see the exact point in her eyes when brown shifts to green, the faint smattering of freckles over her nose that her makeup can’t quite conceal at this distance, and he can feel her breath on his cheek. 

He awkwardly clears his throat and pulls back a little, then shrugs. “None of your passwords or the security questions in case you forget them have anything to do with a childhood pet. And I’ve seen you looking at pictures once,” he admits, watching as she purses her lips at that. “A few years ago, a woman from Queens called saying she was returning your message about adopting a kitten from her, but when I tried to tell you she was on the line, you told me she had the wrong number.” 

Now Carla wrinkles her nose a little, and Samuel finds himself staring at it. He can’t see the freckles anymore, but it’s still cute, and that thought just makes him feel ridiculous.

“Yeah, well, I lied. Told you I’m used to it,” she replies, lighter than she had in the car the day before. “Anyway, it was for the best. I’m too busy for an animal, even one as self-sufficient as a cat.”

He doesn’t point out how she’s only busy _because_ she gives herself so much work to do, staying in the office night after night like she does. Instead, he says, “I guess, with you on leave for the time being, you could finally get one.”

It doesn’t cheer her up exactly like he’d planned, but she does offer a noncommittal shrug of her own. “Maybe.” She moves her attention back to the paper in her lap. “Okay, this one. Whose place do we stay at? Yours or mine.”

Samuel scoffs. “Considering yours is a penthouse in the Upper East Side and mine is… well, you’ve seen it,” he says pointedly, “I think the answer to that one is pretty clear.”

“I thought it had charm.”

When he glances at Carla, he expects her to have a teasing smile on her face. Much to his surprise, though, she’s wearing nothing more than a simple expression of honesty.

“Really?”

“‘Big, flashy, and expensive’ doesn’t always also mean ‘home’,” she says. “In my experience, it rarely ever does.”

Samuel doesn’t reply, instead thoughtfully studying her as she closes the packet and exchanges it for a random magazine tucked into the pocket of the seat in front of her. The more she says stuff like that, the more he’s positive that her life back in Madrid was something that had been hard for her to live through. And that just reminds him that, yes, while he does know enough surface-level information about Carla to ace a quiz on her, he doesn’t actually know all that much about the woman she truly is beneath the cold, composed exterior she puts on for the world to see.

He’s sure he has probably come closer than most, but his job aside, he wonders if he’s the first person she’s met since moving to New York who’s truly been interested in that woman. Hell, he wonders if he’s the first person _ever._ It doesn’t sit right with him. 

Not noticing the signs of loneliness in her would be something infinitely easier to do if they weren’t also signs that he sees in himself, and maybe _that’s_ why he has never been able to bring himself to quit: a sort of jaded camaraderie. Because the thought of leaving her alone with an office full of people that refuse to see or understand her beyond what they wanted to? That doesn’t sit right with him, either. 

He mulls it over on-and-off for the next six hours, because he and Carla don’t really speak much after that. Sometime after their in-flight meal she dozes off, answering his earlier question of whether or not she’d gotten any sleep last night. Her lashes fall over the tops of her cheeks, her temple is leaning against the window, and Samuel finds himself watching her for a long while, sort of feeling like a creep as he does it. But his fascination wins over; she just looks so _peaceful_ in her sleep, he thinks. Younger, too, which makes his chest ache somewhat when he remembers that they’re the same age—her twenty-fifth birthday had come just a month before his. 

She eventually wakes back up when the pilot announces that they’re set to land in Reno within the next ten minutes. Samuel fetches their carry-ons for them when they do, and after waiting for their suitcases at baggage claim, follows Carla to the car he’d arranged to drive them the last forty-five minute leg of their trip to Tahoe.

The ride is also quiet, although it’s disrupted when they finally turn the bend leading to Guzmán’s family’s house and the building itself, as grandiose as Samuel remembers it, comes into view.

He remembers what Carla said on the plane and glances at her from his peripheral. She hasn’t spoken yet, too busy staring out the window at the house.

“It took me some getting used to, at first,” he tells her, once again looking over her shoulder. “I know it’s also ‘big, flashy, and expensive’, but it’s nice here. I promise.”

Carla finally darts her eyes to him. “I thought you said we were staying in a lake house?”

“This _is_ a lake house.”

“This is a lake _mansion,_ Samuel.”

Realization dawns on him, and he chuckles. “What, did you think we were going to be slumming it in a log cabin with no heating, or something? You aren’t my only rich friend, you know.”

“We aren’t friends,” she counters, skewering him with a look that lacks any heat.

He nods sagely and settles back on his side of the backseat. “Right, just fiancés.”

The driver pulls up the driveway, stopping right in front of the house. Samuel gets out first, walking around to the trunk to pull out their luggage, and he almost topples right over with Carla’s when a tiny, high voice screams “Uncle Samu!” and barrels right into his legs, knocking his balance off.

He steadies himself quickly though, and he’s already grinning as he sets the bag down and twists around to look at whoever’s latched themselves to his jeans. There’s only two possible culprits, and this one has an unruly head of brown curls and hazel eyes, which means—

“Yasmin,” Samuel says delightedly, leaning over to scoop the girl up in his arms. She’s not heavy by any means, but he immediately notices with a guilty tug on his heart that she’s still significantly heavier than the last time he held her. “God, you’re almost as big as me now!”

“Though that’s not so difficult to achieve, huh?” A new voice says, and Samuel turns to see Guzmán approaching him with a teasing smile on his lips.

“You’re lucky I can’t curse,” Samuel jokes, indicating Guzmán’s daughter still on his hip as he pulls the other man in for a hug. “It’s good to see you, man. Where is everyone? Where’s Amaya?”

As if on cue, another small girl—this one with wavier hair, darker eyes, and a slightly lighter complexion—darts out from inside the house and heads straight for Samuel’s lower half, much like her cousin had mere moments earlier. Samuel, expecting the force this time, hardly stumbles an inch before he lifts her up with his free arm.

“Hi, Uncle Samu,” she greets him, her arms tight around his neck.

“Hi, Maya.” When she pulls back from hugging him, he grins at both of his nieces. “I missed you guys.”

However, they’re not paying attention to him anymore, eyes focused on something over his shoulder.

“Who’s that?” Yasmin asks loudly, pointing for good measure.

He looks over his shoulder to find Carla watching on with an expression caught somewhere between amusement and trepidation. Before he can reply, though, Guzmán speaks first, and not without a great deal of confusion. 

Samuel can’t blame him, if only because he failed to neglect that he was bringing a guest. And not just any guest, but—

“That would be Uncle Samu’s boss,” Guzmán notes lightly, belying the question clear in his eyes when Samuel meets them: _what the hell is she doing here?_

Samuel clears his throat, noticing that Omar and Ander are spilling out of the house now too, followed closely by Nadia and Marina, then Lu, Rebe, and Valerio. Everyone’s already here, apparently. 

Shit. He supposes this is as good a time as any, then.

He leans over to place Yasmin and Amaya down, then awkwardly clears his throat and goes to stand next to Carla. If he didn’t currently feel as if he swallowed a whole hive of bees, he might’ve lingered over the fact that she looks nervous for probably the first time he’s ever seen, but, well.

“Actually,” he says, exchanging a glance with her before taking her hand, “she’s my fiancée.”

The bright smiles on all of his friend’s faces—save Guzmán’s, who isn’t smiling at all, but glaring at Samuel—dim somewhat as they finally reach them and catch what Samuel’s just announced. They gape at him, and he shifts uncomfortably beneath their attention.

“Um, right,” he continues when no one says anything. “Everyone, this is Carla. Carla, this is… everyone.”

She lifts a hand in a wave. “Hello. Nice to meet you all.”

Guzmán finally chooses now to break the silence, although it isn’t to return pleasantries. He doesn’t even try to hide his clear disbelief and even more blatant disapproval as he says, “You’re getting married. _To her._ ”

Samuel had expected an argument from his friend about this, honestly, but he didn’t expect it so soon. Or so publicly. He expected Guzmán to have _some_ tact and bring this entire ordeal up when Carla wasn’t around, at the very least, but he’d apparently been wrong, and he feels his brows start to pull together in a frown.

Before he can retort, and before it can get anymore awkward, however, Nadia smacks her husband on the arm in chastization before stepping forward with a smile that’s as dazzling as it is kind, extending her hand out for Carla to shake.

“Hi, I’m Nadia. We’ve heard a lot about you.” From behind her, Guzmán scoffs, and Nadia casts him a glare of her own from over her shoulder before she turns that smile on Samuel and Carla once more. “Although, I have to admit, nothing about the two of you dating.”

“Let alone getting married. Jesus, Samu, you couldn’t have said anything?” Rebe cuts in, walking forward and hitting Samuel on the side of his head. Heedless of the pained _ow_ he lets out, she turns to Carla. “I’m Rebe. I guarantee that you can do way better than this kid.”

“Way, _way_ better,” Lu comments, looking Carla over. “Honey, you’re gorgeous. What are you doing with him?”

That’s a loaded question that neither of them are about to answer, so, instead, Samuel grumbles, “It’s great to see you too, Lucrecia.”

She waves him off, attention still on Carla. “Please. Call me Lu,” she tells her, and looks like she’s about to level the both of them with a million questions before Marina mercifully butts in.

“How about we go inside, huh? You must be tired,” she says. Samuel shoots her a grateful look from over Lu’s head and mouths _thank you_ as the redhead places a hand on Carla’s arm and begins leading her inside. _You’re welcome,_ she mouths back at him, then starts barking orders at her brother. “Guzmán, grab their bags, will you?”

He shoots Samuel another look that says, “we’ll talk about this later,” before swinging their carry-ons over either of his shoulders and pulling the luggage out, wheeling them behind him. Samuel watches him follow Carla, Marina, and the other girls into the house, feeling a little guilty about leaving Carla alone with them so soon, but he knows that she’s handled far worse. And all four of them, plus Yasmin _and_ Amaya, will certainly keep Guzmán in check for the time being.

A hand clapping down on his shoulder jolts Samuel back into reality, and he blinks as Omar is suddenly standing next to him. “While I have a fuckload of questions and even more confusement,” he says, “congratulations, dude.”

Samuel chuckles. “Thanks.”

“But seriously, Lu and Rebe weren’t kidding. What did she possibly see in you?”

Samuel shoves him away, causing him to laugh, and Ander steps forward to give Samuel a hug in greeting. “Ah, don’t listen to him.”

“Yeah,” Valerio chimes in, nudging Samuel on the shoulder. “ _We_ think you’re hot.”

“You think everyone’s hot,” he points out amusedly.

The curly-haired man shrugs, turning towards the house and beckoning the others to follow, the parts of his unbuttoned silk shirt flowing behind him as he goes. “It’s one of my best qualities, I think.”

Ander snorts. “What, wanting to fuck everything?”

“No, seeing the _beauty_ in everything,” Valerio corrects him, ducking inside.

“I didn’t know you were such a romantic,” Omar huffs dryly.

“Oh, yes. And love is in the air. I’m in my element.”

“Yes, the element of idiot,” Lu says before turning back to Carla and rolling her eyes. “My brother. Ignore him.”

Rebe scoffs. “Ignore her too, she’s just as dramatic as he is. It runs in the family,” she adds in a loud, conspiratorial whisper that earns her a sharp slap on the stomach from the shorter girl at her side. Rebe laughs her indignation off, unbothered as Lu stalks away muttering to herself about _why am I even dating her, honestly,_ and slings her arms over Samuel and Carla’s shoulders with a smirk. “So. Drinks?”

Samuel tries to look at Carla from around his friend’s head. She doesn’t _seem_ overwhelmed, but he also hasn’t heard her say much beyond her initial general greeting. As always, it’s hard to get a read off of her.

But Samuel knows that he certainly needs a drink, so, “ _Yes_ ,” he sighs emphatically.

Rebeka steers them towards the kitchen where everyone has mostly gathered; Amaya and Yasmin are currently using Valerio as their own personal jungle gym, Marina and Ander are chaperoning that particular brand of chaos with a smile, Lu is already pouring herself a martini, Omar beside her; and Guzmán and Nadia are standing a little off to the side, their heads bent closely together as they speak in hushed whispers. Samuel doesn’t need to wonder what they’re talking about, and he moves his eyes to the few empty glasses already scattered on the kitchen island’s countertop, as well as the half-eaten plates of appetizers surrounding them.

“We may have already gotten started without you,” Rebe explains, sounding wholly unapologetic. “Carla, we’ve got pretty much everything. What do you want? A cocktail, champagne, regular wine…?”

“Wine is great, thank you. White?”

“Gotcha.” The taller girl releases the two of them without asking for Samuel’s preferred drink. “And a boring beer for the boring man. Be right back.”

Seeing that they’re by themselves for the time being, at least within a five-foot radius, Samuel leans in close to Carla and winces. “Sorry. I know they can be a bit… much,” he whispers.

Carla shakes her head. “They’re sweet.”

Her tone is light, believable; still, there’s something odd to how she glances around the room, something almost wistful, but before Samuel can even begin to dig into that, Carla looks down at Yasmin, who’s tugging on the skirt of her dress to get her attention.

“Do you and Uncle Samu kiss?”

Samuel’s relieved he hasn’t gotten his beer yet, because he surely would have spit some of it out. This is definitely something they should have covered on the plane. Should they have practiced, too? No, that would’ve just been weird—it’s not like a _real_ couple spends every waking second making out in front of friends.

He glances at Carla, who doesn’t look as if any of the same thoughts are going on in her head. She still just looks amused.

“We do,” she answers simply.

“Ew. Does he kiss good?”

He barks out an embarrassed laugh at the same time as Nadia rushes over and swoops her daughter into her arms. “Don’t mind her, she lacks any filter whatsoever.”

 _She gets it from her dad_ , Samuel thinks. 

“She’s asking the wrong questions, anyway,” Lu chimes in from behind the counter just as Rebe returns with the beer and glass of wine in either hand. Before Samuel can ask what the _right_ questions are against his better judgement, she gets a sort of twinkle in her eye and continues, “How did you two start dating?”

Samuel opens and closes his mouth for several seconds, Carla licks her lips and darts her eyes to him, and now he’s positive that they’re thinking the same thing now: they _definitely_ should have gone over all of this on the plane.

“Yeah, since you kept this whole thing a secret, the least you can do is tell us how it started,” Omar says.

“Well…” Carla gives him a small nod of encouragement, apparently uncaring about whatever he comes with, as long as it’s something. He’s sure that she is certainly better suited for this than he, but it’s not like he can point that out right now, so he takes a subtle, deep breath and just goes with it. “We spent a lot of nights at the offices together working late. Naturally, I thought she was beautiful, and we got closer. One thing led to another, and… I finally asked her out. It was risky, I could’ve lost my job if she wasn’t interested in me, but I think it worked out in my favor.”

It’s not a total lie. While he does think Carla is beautiful, it’s not like he ever told her that—or planned to, really—to her face before now, and although they do tend to stick around the office way past closing, it’s never necessarily done together. Just at the same time. 

He thinks he sounds truthful enough though, because no one calls him out on his bullshit, and Carla runs her hand down his arm in what he takes to mean, _good job._ Even so, when everyone’s attention shifts off of him after Ander asks how Samuel proposed to her, he can’t help but swallow down half of his beer in one gulp.

Like he’d suspected, Carla handles the interrogation a thousand times better. She doesn’t make up anything over-the-top, no horse-drawn carriages or hot air balloons or anything, but tells them how Samuel had popped the question while they were just cuddled together on his couch one night while watching television. While that gets him several loud “boos” and accusations of being a shitty romantic, mostly from Lu and Valerio, it can’t be contested that it’s undeniably his style. Understated, yes, but intimate.

He suspects Carla might’ve gone that route to make it seem believable, but when he shoots her a grateful smile, he can’t help but wonder if she’d just told them how _she_ would have wanted to actually be proposed to. It’s kind of weird how that makes him feel guilty for robbing her of that. This entire thing was her idea, after all.

Thankfully, Marina once again saves them from the twenty-one questions, and they all relocate to the living room and gather around to eat, drink, and catch up. Carla integrates with everyone seamlessly, even Yasmin and Amaya, accepting their five year-old curiosity in stride and easily waving off Nadia and Ander’s apologies whenever their respective daughters get a little too personal. Eventually, she catches Samuel watching her from where he’s standing a few feet away with Omar, apparently thinking he’s concerned about her and offering him a quick _I_ _’m okay_ in return.

And yeah, while he is a little apprehensive about her getting overloaded by everything, he mostly had just been staring because seeing her chat along with two little kids is completely throwing him for a loop. It’s a bit surprising, sure, but… nice. Valerio isn’t the only one in his element here. 

It’s also nice to see her get along so well with Lu, Rebe, Nadia, and Marina. Maybe this fake marriage won’t be so bad. Maybe she can get friends out of this, people who care for her. And he supposes there are worse things than being able to call a woman as beautiful as Carla his wife, even if it’ll only be for whatever amount of time is required for her to get her visa back. Maybe _he’ll_ even become her friend by the end of it.

After a few hours, Samuel silently extracts himself from the group while they’re wrapped up with one another, slipping outside onto the balcony that overlooks the lake beyond. He closes his eyes and tips his head back, feeling his exhaustion creeping up on him. The cooler air feels good on his skin, flushed from the two beers he’s had, and he deeply inhales it all in. He’s forgotten how peaceful it is out here.

He’s drawn out of his thoughts as he hears someone walk onto the deck with him, and he opens his eyes just as Guzmán settles at his side. He uncaps one of the beers he’s holding and wordlessly offers it to Samuel, who mutters his thanks and takes it from him. They both sip from their bottles, quietly enjoying the view.

“There’s almost nothing like this,” Samuel says after a moment, gesturing in front of them with his beer.

Guzmán bobs his head in a nod. “Yeah.”

“Tell me again why you, Nadia, and Yas don’t just move here permanently?”

“Because there’s only so much fresh air and water I can take. After a week, I start to miss the smog and pollution,” his friend jokes. “Like some sort of Stockholm Syndrome or something.”

Samuel chuckles. “No, I get it.”

“Missed you too, you know,” Guzmán says once a few seconds pass, gently nudging his arm. “We all did.”

“I know. I missed all of you.” He listens to the slightly muffled chatter spilling out from the house behind them. “I’m glad to be here now, though.”

A beat of silence stretches between them. The sky is a blend of dark blue and orange, the sun already set below the horizon, but still emitting a soft glow. The lake is dark, still, and calm. _Peaceful,_ Samuel thinks to himself.

Then Guzmán lowers his beer onto the railing and starts, “So, you and Carla.”

Whatever relaxation he’d been feeling is instantly decimated, and Samuel releases a long, impatient breath. “Not now, Guzmán.”

“Why not? We can’t shelve this conversation for forever,” he retorts. Samuel can feel his stare boring into the side of his face. 

“We can, because there’s no conversation to be had.”

Guzmán ignores that. “Yes, there is. What the hell, man? She works you to the bone, she keeps you from seeing us for two years—”

Samuel scoffs in irritation. “She didn’t _keep_ me.”

“She kinda did. Had you right by the dick, apparently,” Guzmán remarks, and Samuel loses his patience, whirling around and shoving the other man back. 

“You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about,” he grits out angrily.

“Don’t I? How long have you even been together? What was it, six months?” 

“You proposed to Nadia straight out of high school.”

“That’s because I love her.”

Samuel gets in his face. “Yeah, well, believe it or not, I love Carla too,” he says. Doesn’t even flinch with the lie; he’s too angry to. “I know you’re just trying to look out for me, or you’re bitter that I’ve been a bit busy these last couple of years, or whatever. But stay out of my relationship, do you understand me?”

With that, Samuel begins to walk away. He’s just a few steps away from the door when he hears, “She’s not family, Samu.”

Samuel grits his teeth. “Well, I’m the only one she’s got. So you’re going to have to get used to having her around.”

He tries his best to not look so blatantly pissed off as he walks back inside and heads over to where Carla and Rebe are sitting on one of the long couches, but he must not be hiding it all that well, because Carla looks up from where the other girl is showing her something on her phone and her easy expression instantly knits into a frown.

“Hey, is there something wrong?”

“No,” he lies a little too quickly, making Carla’s frown deepen. “I’m just a little tired, I think I’m going to turn in for the night.”

“Oh, well, okay.” She starts to stand up.

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s fine. I’m tired, too.”

“My fault, probably,” Rebe says with a smile, waving her phone a little. “I was boring her with my latest designs.”

“Your designs are beautiful. In fact, you better let me buy some dresses off of you sometime,” Carla assures her. “We’ve just had a long day, what with the flight and everything.”

Rebe pushes herself up from the couch. “Yeah, I get it. We all arrived yesterday morning and spent the entire day crashing out. I’m still fucking jet-lagged, I swear,” she says. “Come on. I’ll show you guys to your room.”

“Our room?” Samuel asks, casting a slightly nervous look at Carla even as they both begin following the brunette.

He doesn’t have to actually see Rebe’s face to know that she’s rolling her eyes as she says, “ _Yes,_ your room. Since you neglected to tell anyone that you were bringing a _fiancée,_ let alone that you even had one, you get the one room. Besides, we’re all full up. And it’s not like you two haven’t shared a bed before, right?”

She shoots them a wink over her shoulder as they ascend the staircase, and Samuel chuckles somewhat awkwardly. Then he gives Carla a light nudge when he looks over and sees her eyes bright with humor at his expense.

“How’s that like, anyway?” Rebeka goes on. “You ever bring that boss/assistant power play dynamic into the bedroom?”

Carla’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline at the same time as Samuel chokes on his own spit. “ _Rebe,_ ” he warns.

“Only kidding, geez, you’re such a prude,” she replies, innocently widening her eyes at them as she stops in front of a door and extends her arm out towards it. 

He and Carla step inside, taking the room in. It’s spacious enough, with a balcony of its own and an attached bathroom, but clearly meant for one person or, in their supposed case, a couple—there’s only one bed. A queen-sized one by the looks of it, but it still looks _small,_ and Samuel wonders if that’s because of the assumption that he and Carla are going to sleep together in it or because all of their bags are simply piled up on top of it. They must have been brought up earlier.

“There are condoms in all the drawers,” Rebe says from the doorway, and Samuel screws up his face. “Again, kidding. Just in the nightstand. Have fun, eh?”

She offers them a two-fingered salute before closing the door behind her, and Samuel shakes his head once she does.

“I’m sorry about that, she’s ridiculous,” he tells Carla. When she looks like she’s going to argue, he cuts her off. “And don’t say the whole ‘sweet’ thing again. She isn’t.”

Carla laughs. “Okay, fine,” she concedes. “But I think it’s part of her charm.”

“It worked on Lu, somehow,” he snorts in agreement, walking over to the bed and unzipping his suitcase. He pulls out his bag of toiletries and pajamas, then gestures a bit dumbly at the closed bathroom door. “Did you need to…?”

She waves him off. “No, go ahead. I’m just gonna unpack.”

Samuel nods, disappearing into the en-suite. He tries to keep his shower relatively short, not wanting to hog it for too long just as much as he doesn’t want to get stuck in here with his frustration towards Guzmán, otherwise it’ll just fester. He’ll cool off by the morning, and hopefully, his friend will have too. And if he’s lucky, Guzmán will have dropped his reservations altogether.

It’s unlikely; Guzmán and Samuel tend to share the same stubborn streak, but he supposes it doesn’t hurt to be optimistic.

Carla enters the bathroom with her own things shortly after he comes out, and Samuel busies himself with unpacking the rest of his stuff, tucking them away inside the dresser that she hasn’t already claimed as her own. It’s thankfully condom-free, but when he checks inside both of the nightstands’ top drawers on a whim, there’s a strip in each. He feels his face redden immediately, but at least no one is around to see it now.

He’s just tossing down a couple of pillows and a blanket onto the floor when Carla steps out of the bathroom, dressed in a tank top and pair of silk pajama bottoms. She’s bare-faced and her hair is damp from the shower, he can smell her soap and shampoo from here, and Samuel stares like an idiot, his mouth suddenly gone dry. 

The tank top isn’t scandalous or anything—he’s seen her wearing low-cut dresses, for crying out loud—but all the skin is making his head spin a little bit. It probably has to do with the fact that he’s never exactly seen Carla like _this_ before, without any of her usual physical barriers. Which is dumb, he should’ve anticipated this happening, because it’s not like he was expecting her to go to bed completely dressed and with a full face of makeup or anything. 

But she’s just as gorgeous without that as she is with it, he now knows. Not that he ever thought otherwise in the first place.

“What are you doing?” Carla asks, eyebrows furrowed.

It takes him a moment to realize that she’s asking about the bedding strewn on the carpet and not him gaping at her, but when he does, it’s with a large wave of relief. 

“Uh, just making my bed for the night,” he answers, straightening out the corners of his makeshift blanket-mattress. 

“I can see that. I meant, why? There’s a perfectly fine bed right there.”

Samuel glances between her and the thing in question, then back again. “I, um…”

Carla rolls her eyes, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him over to the bed. “You really _are_ a prude, huh? Relax, Samuel, it’s not going to kill either of us if we sleep together for a week.”

Her choice of wording is really not doing anything to convince him, but she’s also using her business-stern voice, so he knows he’s not likely to get out of this. At least, not if he wants his dignity to remain intact.

So he nods, and Carla tosses him the pillows and blanket he’d had on the floor before climbing onto the bed. Still, Samuel stares at her for a beat more until she pointedly—and somewhat impatiently—pats the space next to her, whereupon he finally slips under the covers himself. He’s stiff for a while, very hyper aware of the fact that his leg could brush Carla’s at any second, but as his tiredness begins to truly set in, he eases into the plush mattress with a sigh. 

“I wasn’t about to make you sleep on the floor the entire time we’re here,” Carla says. He can’t actually see her smirk because the pillows are so fluffy that they block his view of her, but he can still hear it in her voice. 

“Hey, the floor’s good for your back.”

“Not for seven days straight. And Samuel, you’re twenty-five. Your back’s fine.”

“Tell that to the brace I have to wear,” he jokes. “You might change your mind about this whole ‘marrying me’ thing once you see it. Very unsexy.”

Carla laughs quietly. Samuel grins at the ceiling, that same smug feeling settling warm in his chest. Like he’s won a prize.

“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” She asks after a short while.

He thinks it over. “Well, tomorrow’s Guzmán’s birthday, so that usually means day-drinking by the lake. Probably a barbecue in the evening.”

Another moment passes. “Guzmán doesn’t like me all that much.”

Samuel presses his lips together, then shakes his head as if she can even see the movement. “Don’t take it personally. He doesn’t like anyone at first, but he’ll warm up to you. Give him time.”

“He’s protective of you,” she observes. “You all are, of each other.”

“Guzmán can be a little overbearing with it, but… yeah. We’re like a family. Well, some of them _are_ actually related, but, you know. A big, extended family.”

“Yeah,” Carla murmurs, sounding distant.

It makes him think of her own family. Her parents. Would she tell him about them if he asked?

He opens his mouth, but the words die on his tongue as Carla’s voice rings out first.

“Goodnight, Samuel.”

He lowers his gaze, somewhat dejected. “Night, Carla.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know the wiki says carla’s birthday is june 25th (which.. idk where they got that information from??) but i rebuke that because carla is a TEXTBOOK scorpio and also im pretty sure writing over 120k words for carmuel warrants canon being mine now. with that being said, i have established in my head that carla’s birthday is november 11th lol (with samuel’s being sometime in late december)
> 
> but shoutout to Sophie4628 and their latest chapter of See you again where pilar gives carla a whole rundown on zodiac signs, because 1) it was really in character and 2) the hard shell/soft insides thing fits carla perfectly
> 
> and lastly, i promise guzman will come around :)


	4. to have and to hold from this day forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said i’d update take it how you want it as i write this buuuuut.. this is completely taking over my brain skdjskdj. as i’ve said on tumblr though that that fic will NOT be abandoned, just put on hold until sunflower is finished or i hit writers block and need to switch gears for a minute :)

When Carla’s eyes flutter open the next morning, there’s a nose huffing steady breaths where it’s pressed into her hair and an arm holding her close where it’s draped over her waist.

Her brain is still catching up with her, so she doesn’t immediately remember that she isn’t in the habit of waking up with a body next to her, let alone wrapped _around_ her, and hasn’t been for a very long time… but then again, maybe that’s exactly why she finds herself reluctant to pull out of the embrace, even though she’s sure her alarm for work is bound to go off any minute now. Her tank top has ridden up somewhat and the arm is pressed to her hip, skin to skin; a little heavy but nice, nonetheless. She’s comfortable. Warm.

_Safe._

Carla doesn’t see the harm in staying here for just a short while longer, so she lets her eyes fall shut again and nestles into the bicep cushioned beneath her head with a sleepy sigh.

As she lies there, however, the sleep-induced fog begins to lift, and her normal rationalization replaces it. She’s had the occasional one-night-stand here and there, but she’s never stayed over and she’s never brought them home, either. And she’s certain home isn’t where she’s at right now, because this bed feels different from hers. The mattress is on the softer side where hers is firm, the sheets are linen where hers are silk, and the entire thing smells different, like starchy linen and not the familiar scent of her own detergent. _Where am I? More importantly, who am I with?_

A sleepy grunt from the guy holding her answers that question, and suddenly, Carla remembers. Her eyes snap back open.

Right. Not her bedroom back at her apartment in Manhattan, but one of the guest rooms in the lake house. Her work alarm isn’t going to go off soon because she has more or less been indefinitely fired from her own company, and the arms cradling her…

The arms belong to Samuel.

She instantly stiffens at that realization, and also because he mumbles something again. Carla waits for him to spring back and release her like she’s burned him or something, but several seconds pass where nothing happens other than him exhaling a deep breath on the nape of her neck. She fights very, very hard against the way her body wants to shiver at that, then carefully cranes her head forward and gazes at him over her shoulder.

He’s dead asleep, and his face is completely lax with it; full lips slightly parted and looking just as soft as the wavy curls on top of his head. The entire sight of him is unfairly pretty. She can’t help but stare. It’s never occurred to her before how young he is, probably because they’re the same age and she often forgets how young _she_ is, but he looks more relaxed than she’s ever seen him before in this instant. 

She’s always secretly found his eyelashes both intoxicating and a bit annoying, and that hasn’t changed now as she stares at the thick line of them. She wants to reach out, touch the tips of her fingers to each individual one until he wakes up and those eyes melt over her like syrup.

The fact that she can’t makes her chest ache, just like seeing the pure love shared between everyone yesterday had. _A big, extended family,_ Samuel said. She’d been so jealous of it. She still is. Part of her wonders if she can have something close to it for herself, one day. 

It’s doubtful. She likes them, and Guzmán aside, they seem to like her, but even if she does become integrated into their group, it’s not like she and Samuel are actually together. They’ll marry; stay together a year or so, sure, but they’re going to have to get divorced eventually, and then there won’t be any reason for her to stick around any longer. It’s not like it’ll be appropriate for her ex-husband to remain as her personal assistant, either. When this is all said and done, she’s going to lose him and the only solace she’s had these last handful of years. 

She hadn’t considered that until now. It doesn’t only make her ache, but it also feels like she’s being completely gutted.

Carla ignores the pit in her stomach and lets her eyes roam across his sleep-soft features. Well, she supposes she’ll just have to savor whatever amount of time they have left together. And maybe if she gets to wake up to this sight every morning until then, it’ll be worth it.

More likely, it’ll just make it hurt even more.

She swallows past the thick lump in her throat, deciding she’s probably indulged enough in this already, and prepares to slip out from the cradle of his arms and slip into the bathroom. 

But as soon as she moves, Samuel’s arm tightens around her. She immediately pauses, then the breath she’d been holding leaves her in a quiet, relieved sigh as his arm begins to withdraw and she figures he’s about to let go of her. He doesn’t, though. Worse, he only pulls back until his hand is splayed over the sliver of skin peeking out from between her tank top and the hem of her pants, fingers brushing her lower abdomen in a way that decimates all of the dark thoughts she’d been having and instantly turns her on. She can’t suppress the shiver his touch elicits from her now, and she bites her lip, unsure of what to do. 

Well, the slight throb between her legs and her peaked nipples means she knows what she _wants_ to do—and that’s only fueled when Samuel snuggles closer to her and she feels the length of him against the curve of her ass. The _hard_ length of him. Carla’s mouth goes dry. 

As much as she wants to, she can’t sit here and grind herself against her—former?—assistant’s morning wood. And as much as the mere solid feel of it makes her pulse, it also makes her mind up for her, and so does the fact that Samuel chooses then to begin to stir. 

It just unfortunately takes him a moment to check into his surroundings, a moment that feels excruciatingly long to Carla. _Just like his dick,_ her brain unhelpfully supplies.

Thankfully, Samuel finally seems to completely wake up and take stock of their position, because he freezes for all of a second before jumping back, quick as lightning. 

He doesn’t get up from the bed; just puts enough space between them so that they aren’t touching. For a moment, Carla debates pretending as if she’s still asleep to save him any more embarrassment, but she can hear his mouth opening and closing, trying and failing to come up with words. He already knows that she’s awake.

Hell, he can probably hear the rapid thrum of her heartbeat, if he didn’t already feel it.

With a sigh, Carla half-rolls onto her back so that she can see him over her shoulder again. His gaze immediately averts from her own, but he can’t do anything to hide his reddened cheeks from her.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “It’s, um… natural.”

Still not looking at her, his head bobs in a jerky nod. “Y-yeah, sorry. It’s—the morning.”

“And I can move around a lot in my sleep, so…” 

She trails off lamely, knowing that she probably isn’t making him feel any better. Fuck. Maybe she _should_ have just acted like she was still sleeping, whether he saw through it or not.

An uncomfortable silence falls over them. Carla licks her lips. Would telling him that she actually enjoyed it make things even worse?

She opens her mouth, but what comes out is a sharp knock.

“Hey, lovebirds. You decent?”

Carla instantly presses her lips together, swallowing those words she had formed onto her tongue back down. Yes, speaking them definitely would have made everything worse, and she welcomes the interruption with a quiet nod to Samuel as he finally looks at her for confirmation.

“Uh, yeah, come in,” he says loudly enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear.

It turns out to be Omar, who pokes his head in. A knowing smile slowly spreads across his face, and Carla doesn’t have to wonder why—they both probably look like they’ve just been thoroughly _caught._

Omar, fortunately, doesn’t tease them anymore beyond that. Carla would’ve been able to take it, but she’s sure that Samuel definitely wouldn’t. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. One of the bed’s smaller pillows is placed over his lap. He must’ve done that right before the door opened. 

She swallows and looks back to Omar.

“Breakfast call,” he tells them. “Better get down before Rebe demolishes everything.”

There’s a muffled and indignant _hey_ from somewhere in the hallway behind him. He grins.

Samuel nods. “We’ll be there in a minute. Just woke up.”

“Yeah, sure,” Omar says slyly. Carla had clearly been wrong in thinking he wouldn’t tease them any further. She doesn’t look at Samuel again, but figures he’s probably giving his friend a glare based on how Omar laughs, holds his hands up in surrender, and starts to back away. “Okay, okay. I’ll save you some ham.”

He slips back out, leaving them in that tense silence once more. God, she doesn’t want to have to deal with this for the next six days, so again, she opens her mouth, albeit this time to clear the air.

And _again,_ she’s interrupted as Samuel gets out of the bed. “He really wasn’t joking, we should go down before all the food’s gone.”

She hesitates for a second, weighing on whether or not she should still address the awkwardness, but he’s clearly trying to run from it, so she relents. Offers him a small, barely-there smile that she knows doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Go ahead. I’m just going to get dressed.”

With one final jerky nod, he walks out the door. Carla pushes her hands through her hair and slumps back against the pillows with a heavy sigh, staring up at the ceiling.

Samuel is _attractive._ She’s known that since the moment he walked into her office for his job interview, and she’s known that she’d definitely have sex with him for just as long, too. So she _doesn’t_ know why this whole thing is making her fucking head spin. 

There’s still low-level arousal buzzing in her system. Before she can do something as stupid as take care of it, she shoves the covers back and goes into the bathroom to get ready.

Fifteen minutes later, she walks down the stairs, fully dressed and makeup back on, and instantly feels out of place the second she walks into the kitchen. Everyone is still in their pajamas, hair in disarray, and in various stages of consciousness. Lu actually isn’t even awake, but has her head lolling on Rebe’s shoulder where they’re sitting side-by-side at the table, a piece of toast slipping out of her hand. She, like all the other girls, is makeup free. 

The only one who probably looks like a sore thumb as much as Carla does right now is Valerio, whose messy curls are poorly pressed down in random places by colorful plastic barrettes. He also looks like a Sephora blew up all over his face, but it’s fairly obvious to Carla that it’s less of a fashion statement and more of his two nieces going crazy on him with someone else’s makeup bag, so she doesn’t think it really counts. Besides, he’s dozing, too.

Guzmán’s eyes are somehow both unreadable and full of judgment when they land on her. They practically say, _you don’t belong here, isn’t that obvious now?_

As if she ever thought otherwise.

Those who are coherent enough to notice her presence greet her a good morning, and she returns it in kind, walking over to where Samuel is pouring a cup of coffee at the counter. His eyes dart to her and then back to the dark, swirling liquid in front of him, and Carla holds in a sigh. If he’s going to be awkward about waking up with a hard-on for the rest of the week, the least he can do is try to hide it better. The last thing they both need is for everyone else to notice and start questioning the sudden tension between them, so without thinking, she grabs his hand and squeezes his fingers. Her eyes are full of meaning when he meets them in surprise. 

_We’re okay,_ she silently conveys, and knows he understands when the line of his shoulders relaxes a little and he offers her a hesitant smile. She returns it, murmuring a thank you when he pushes the coffee over to her a second later. Before she can ask him if there’s any cinnamon and honey, he’s already passing them and a carton of soy milk to her. It’s silly how it warms her a little; of course he knows what she likes. He _has_ been fetching her coffee for a long time now, and this is hardly any different.

Except it is, because his hair is cow-licked, there are tired lines around his eyes, and his face is curtained with a dark shadow of stubble she’s never seen him with before. He’s not wearing a suit, but a rumpled t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. And he’s barefoot. It’s _different._

The both of them join the others at the table, wedging themselves between Ander, who has a pillow crease on his cheek, and Marina, who offers Carla a warm smile and compliments her on her shirt. Breakfast is spread around the table continental-style, and although the food is still pretty much abundant, Omar, as promised, passes them both some ham he set aside for them—it’s easy to ignore the fact that Samuel clearly must have waited for her to come down before eating, because she finds herself surprised that the ham is actually the dried, high-end stuff back from home, and not the kind you need to cook that she’s gotten so used to seeing in the grocery stores here. 

In fact, as she looks around, _all_ of the food is from home. Pastries of all types are spread about, and there’s even a pot of genuine hot chocolate, thicker and darker than the American drink she’d ordered one time and hadn’t liked nearly as much. As she reaches for the churros, she tries very hard not to outwardly appear as excited as she feels right now.

Next to her, there’s a knowing smile tucked into the corner of Samuel’s mouth, and she subtly nudges him with her knee under the table.

“Did you guys cook all of this?” She asks half an hour later, once everyone’s more or less fully awake and finishing up their breakfasts. 

A few snorts ring out, one of which comes from Omar, who says, “Are you joking? Only Nadia and I really know how to cook, and even then just the recipes our mom taught us. And those are distinctly more Palestinian.”

“Whatever we can’t have imported, we have catered,” Marina tells her. 

“Well, it’s really good. It’s been a while since I’ve had anything like this,” Carla says. “I missed it more than I realized, I think.”

“There’s nothing like this in New York?” Ander asks.

Carla lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Not really. Tapas bars, but that’s about it, and they still don’t taste the same as the stuff back home.”

Nadia briefly takes her eyes off of where she’s cutting up Yasmin’s food to glance at Carla. “You don’t go back home often, then?”

“I’ve been here on a visa for the past five years,” Carla replies, shaking her head with a rueful smile. “Can’t travel out of the country, unfortunately.”

“Do you have family back there?” Lu, now completely conscious and pouring herself a mimosa, asks her. 

“Just my parents,” she answers, forcedly keeping her tone light.

“And you haven’t seen them in five years? Poor girl. They must miss you,” Lu says. She brightens as a thought seems to occur to her. “But I guess they’ll come to the States for your wedding, no?”

 _No, they won’t,_ Carla thinks. _And even if it was a real wedding, they wouldn’t be invited._

Suddenly, Samuel places his hand on her knee, making her realize how tense she’d become over the last minute. She calms down almost immediately, finding comfort in the touch.

“Lu, if you’re going to bombard us with wedding questions, can you at least spread them out over the week?” He says lightheartedly, if not pointedly.

Lu rolls her eyes. “Ugh, fine, whatever,” she says, attention quickly shifting to Amaya sitting beside her as the little girl asks her a question.

As soon as no one’s looking at them anymore, Carla shoots Samuel a grateful smile. He nods, thumb brushing the skin of her knee just once before he pulls away.

The goosebumps that spread all over her are a problem, but they also make it easy to not think about her parents, at the very least.

“Can we go to the lake now?” Yasmin impatiently asks a short while later. She’d been forced to sit and eat the food Nadia cut for her, and she doesn’t look happy about it at all. Her tiny face is pulled into an exaggerated, grumpy frown, and Carla thinks it looks really cute. “I want to go swimming.”

“But if we do that, then all of your and Maya’s hard work will wash off,” Valerio sings, accentuating his even more exaggerated makeup. 

Marina leans over and gives him a sniff. “Might be a good thing. You smell like champagne.”

“So, you’re saying I smell classy and high-end.”

“She meant to say that you smell like _spoiled_ champagne,” Rebe corrects.

“I don’t care what Uncle Val smells like. I want to go swimming!” Yasmin repeats, scowl deepening.

Nadia looks to Guzmán for help, and when he merely raises his eyebrows at her, she says, “It’s _your_ birthday. What do you want to do?”

Yasmin stares up at her dad with wide, pleading eyes as he pretends to think it over, waiting until she looks like she’s going to snap from the anticipation before an easy grin spreads across his lips. 

“Alright, alright, let’s go to the lake.”

*

It turns out that there are multiple cars at the house, and they pack three of them with various coolers, bags, water toys, and whatever else they need for a day at the lake before dividing themselves amongst the vehicles. Carla and Samuel end up in an SUV with Omar, Ander, and Amaya, the young girl sitting between them in the backseat.

She’s a little quieter than her cousin, Carla’s noted, but she apparently comes out of her shell around Samuel. It’s cute watching the two of them play hand games on the drive over to the lake, and it’s even cuter when Samuel catches her watching the whole thing and flushes a little. The drive is short though, and soon they’re all pulling into a parking lot, unloading their things, and carrying them down to an empty spot on the beach. Yasmin and Amaya waste no time in darting off towards the water, and Omar and Guzmán chase after them. Ander and Valerio, who washed his makeup off back at the house, follow shortly after. 

However, Samuel lingers, clearly hesitant to leave her alone again. He’s probably worried that she’s going to be bombarded with more parent-related questions. It’s touching, but she still rolls her eyes and waves him off. 

“Samuel, go.”

“Are you sure?” He asks her, keeping his voice low even though the rest of the girls are too busy laying out towels or putting on sunscreen to hear them.

Carla nods. “You can’t stay by my side the entire trip, that would just be weird. And probably make Guzmán hate me even more.” She means it as a joke, but he presses his lips together instead of smiling, so she places her hand on his bicep in reassurance—something she only braves doing because he’s still wearing a shirt. “I’ll be fine. _Go._ Amaya said she wanted to swim with you in the car.”

Samuel looks at her in uncertainty for a few more beats before finally relenting, pulling his shirt over his head. Carla takes advantage of her sunglasses’ dark lenses to check him out, and he’s none the wiser as he jogs over to the shore. 

She knew he kept in shape, even if she didn’t exactly know _how,_ but she didn’t expect him to be so muscular. It just makes her think of this morning again. She licks her lips and tears her gaze away, walking over to where Rebe’s already leaning back on her elbows and soaking in the sun. 

As Carla strips herself out of her shorts and cover-up, revealing the red bikini she’d donned back at the house, the taller girl peeks at her from over the rim of her own sunglasses and lets out a wolf whistle. “Wow, blondie. If you and Samuel weren’t getting hitched…”

Carla’s used to being hit on, but for some reason when Rebe does it, it’s less annoying and more amusing. She crinkles her nose in a laugh, folding her clothes and setting them aside. 

“What would Lu say?” She jokes.

“Lu would agree with her,” the girl herself says, walking over and settling down. Rebe just gives Carla a pointed look.

She lets out another quiet laugh, sitting on Rebe’s other side. “I’m all pasty right now, though. New York isn’t really ideal for sunbathing.”

“Sure,” Rebe says. “Although, if this is you at pasty, I don’t think anyone’s prepared to see you at sun-kissed.”

“Samu definitely won’t be,” Lu chuckles.

Carla lets her eyes drift over to him in the water. He’s apparently being ambushed by Amaya and Yasmin, pretending to struggle as they repeatedly dunk his head under, and then she watches as he scoops Amaya out of the water and swings her around with a big grin while she giggles delightedly. Like in the car, the sight makes her smile to herself.

“I didn’t know he was so good with kids,” she finds herself saying, voice softer than she means it to be.

“He and Valerio have always been their favorite uncles,” Nadia says from where she’s lounging with Marina on Lu’s other side. “They’ve missed him. It’s been a while since he’s seen them in person.”

Rebe elbows Carla goodnaturedly. “But now we know why he’s missed the lake trip these past few years, eh? Too busy being shacked up with you,” she teases.

Carla’s smile this time is distant, less genuine, as she gets lost in her thoughts. This trip is an annual thing? Why hasn’t he ever said anything? This must’ve been where he went when her father visited her; she’d just been so preoccupied by that that she hadn’t even bothered to ask. But that was _two years ago,_ and it’s not like she’d given him any time off the three years he was working for her before that. 

She suddenly feels sick with herself, robbing him of his time with his nieces, his family. And all because she’d been selfishly clinging to him out of loneliness, not that he was aware of that. 

No wonder Guzmán doesn’t like her. 

Something heavy presses on her chest, something that feels undeniably like guilt, and she lowers her gaze. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

They all give her weird looks. “What for?” Marina asks.

“For keeping him away from you.”

Much to her surprise, the girls chuckle. She looks up at them, confused.

“Darling, don’t be,” Lu says to her. “We can all see how happy you make him.”

The words would probably make Carla blush if she weren’t already warmed from the sun, but there’s still nothing to conceal how they make her stomach flip. However, she quickly shoves that butterfly feeling aside; they’re not actually a real couple, just pretending to be one, and for her own sake, she can’t let those lines get blurred. She just takes comfort in the fact that she and Samuel are believable enough to have his friends convinced. 

Though that comfort shatters when Lu continues, “But seriously, Carla, tell us the truth.”

Now her stomach just feels like it’s _dropped._ She keeps her features completely schooled, arching an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“You and Samuel,” Lu stresses. Then, “How did you two _really_ start dating?”

Carla tries not to visibly deflate with relief. _Shit._ “He told you guys yesterday, didn’t he?”

“Well, sure, but that was total bullshit,” Rebe says. 

Nadia snorts in agreement. “Yeah, we know Samuel. He’s not forward at all. Right, Marina?”

“Nadia…” The redhead starts, casting a nervous glance in Carla’s direction.

Carla furrows her brows somewhat. “What do you mean?”

Marina sighs before a small smile forms on her lips. It’s not quite embarrassed, but almost… apologetic. “I didn’t want to say anything,” she begins, and Nadia’s expression turns contrite even though Marina doesn’t sound particularly annoyed, “but Samuel and I used to date.”

Carla blinks. “You did?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Rebe asks before Marina can answer. “That dude can be so stupid sometimes. Bringing his fiancée here and not telling her that his ex-girlfriend is also gonna be around, I swear.”

“Honestly, it happened years ago. In high school,” Marina says. “So I don’t blame him for not bringing it up, but I’m still sorry you had to find out from me.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Carla says lightly, her glasses concealing how her smile doesn’t exactly reach her eyes. 

She hates herself for it, because it’s dumb. Marina’s been completely sweet to her, and like the girl said, they dated at least seven years ago. But Carla also can’t help but think about how Marina’s the only one here who’s had Samuel—really, _truthfully_ , had him—despite the fact that Carla, technically, is engaged to be married to him… and it just makes her envious.

Why did they break up, and who broke up with whom? In another world, maybe Marina might be the one engaged to him, and it would be an engagement based on love; one with an actual foundation built on dates, not on total lies. Does Guzmán also hate her because he wishes she were his sister instead?

“Our point,” Lu chimes in, mercifully interrupting Carla’s thoughts, “is that Samu didn’t even ask Marina out, she asked him, so I doubt he asked _you_. Especially not when he had his job on the line.”

Rebe grins. “Spill, blondie. You made the first move, right? I bet he was a dumbass about it, too.”

“We did stay at the office late a lot, he wasn’t lying about that,” Carla concedes after a moment, her imagination desperately trying to put more of a story together before she ultimately just picks something straight from her memory. “One night, he offered me some food he’d brought from home. I guess he skipped lunch or something. So we ate it, talked a bit, and… then I kissed him.”

More like, he’d asked if she wanted some of his leftovers from dinner the night before, she’d been so thrown by it that she declined, and then spent hours after he left for home regretting it. And thinking about how kind his eyes were. 

Rebe lets out a disbelieving snort. “And that _worked?_ You did hear what Omar said back at breakfast? None of us can cook for shit.”

“I thought it was sweet,” Carla answers honestly, softly, smiling to herself.

There’s a beat of silence before Lu suddenly blurts out, “ _Oh, my god._ I can’t believe we haven’t asked you when the wedding’s going to happen yet!”

Carla freezes. She can’t exactly tell them, _as soon as possible, or else I’m being deported._ “I don’t know,” she says instead. “We haven’t really talked about it.”

“Have you even looked at venues?” Carla shakes her head. “ _Dresses?_ ”

“She gets excited about parties,” Rebe whispers to Carla apologetically.

“This isn’t just a party, it’s a wedding,” Lu retorts. “Is it going to be big or small?”

That’s something she can answer, at least. “Small. Like I told you, I don’t have any family here. No friends either, actually, so.” 

She shrugs, it’s _fact,_ but she uncharacteristically feels like squirming beneath all four of their gazes. 

Meaningfully, Lu reaches over her girlfriend to squeeze Carla’s hand. “Well, you have us, you know. We’re your bitches now.”

Rebe bumps Carla’s shoulder in agreement, Marina and Nadia both voice their own, and Carla laughs, her chest full of warmth. 

Maybe, hopefully, when she and Samuel do go their separate ways, she can hold onto this friendship.

The conversation slowly begins to dwindle to idle chatter as they lean back and soak in the sun. After a while, the girls announce that they’re going to head down to the water and ask Carla if she wants to join them. But the warmth feels nice on her skin and her limbs are pliant and lazy with it in the best of ways; she can’t remember the last time she’s felt so well and truly _relaxed_. Plus, she meant what she said about New York making her pale, so she tells them to go ahead without her, pulling a book out from her bag to read.

Ten minutes later, she twitches in surprise when something cold and wet drips onto her bare thighs. She gasps lightly at the contrast in temperature, tearing her gaze off of the pages of her book to find Samuel kneeling beside her. There are beads of water falling from the tips of his hair and his lips are curved up in a smirk.

She glares at him half-heartedly, ignoring how the sight of him has her pulse stuttering, and pulls her book away from him so that he doesn’t ruin the pages.

He just smiles wider, like he finds her not-so-annoyance with him cute. “What are you doing?”

“Reading,” she says, rolling her eyes from behind her glasses and turning back to the paragraph she’d left off on.

“No, you’re working.”

Carla raises her eyebrows, not looking back up at him. She’s also not reading anything either, too hyper aware of the way his wrist is brushing the side of her thigh. “In order to work, you kind of have to still have a job, so…”

He scoffs. “Fine, but you’re still doing work-related things. _Former_ work-related,” he amends at the look she gives him. He shoots her a pointed one back. “This is your first real vacation in five years. I would know, because I was your personal assistant throughout all of it.”

That guilt from earlier returns. This is _his_ first real vacation in just as long too, because she’d kept him from having one. He should be tired of being around her so much. 

But evidently not, because he encircles her wrist with his fingers and tugs lightly, making her release her hold on the book with that hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m _reading,_ ” she reiterates.

The book is suddenly yanked from her grasp, and Samuel stands up and out of Carla’s reach when she tries to grab it back from him. She sends him another glare.

He remains unfazed by it and instead just sounds triumphant as he says, “Now you’re not.”

“What are you, five? I think Yas and Maya have been wearing off on you,” she replies, but she can’t help the little smile tugging at her mouth. She likes seeing him like this; it’s like how he’d looked while he was sleeping. _Young._

Samuel just keeps grinning at her. With a fake-heavy sigh, she pushes herself up to her feet. He doesn’t step back, so she ends up entirely too close to him; so close that she can count the water droplets that haven’t yet dried on his chest.

He swallows, and it’s Carla’s turn to look triumphant now. But he recovers quickly, tossing her book back onto the blanket. He grabs her by the hand, and she hardly recognizes the loud, carefree laugh that bubbles out of her throat as he drags her off running towards the shore.

That free feeling sticks with her even as they plunge into the water, so cold it makes her teeth chatter at first but still _nice_ ; when Samuel splashes her and she gets him back, and when she and Amaya team up against him and Yasmin in a game of chicken. They all swim around for the next hour or so, only crawling back onto the beach to have lunch and crack open some beers—and in Carla’s case, belatedly lather sunscreen on herself because she’d forgotten. Her cheeks are warm with the telltale signs of a mild sunburn by the time they load themselves back into the cars in the late afternoon, but as she sits in the backseat with Amaya’s head lolling on her shoulder, she feels nothing but utterly at ease.

She takes her gaze off the window and finds Samuel watching them with a quiet smile on his face, and she doesn’t say anything, just smiles, too. 

Back at the house, everyone showers and changes, and by the time she gets back downstairs, Omar’s already standing in front of the barbecue on the deck. Valerio and Rebe tease him for burning the food, but even though Carla thinks it’s delicious, she laughs with all of them. It’s nice watching them joke around with each other. It doesn’t make her feel as wistful as it had yesterday.

After Yasmin and Amaya are put to bed, they gather around to celebrate the remainder of Guzmán’s birthday with more alcohol. By the time she and Samuel finally excuse themselves for the night, she’s mildly drunk—at least, buzzed enough that she collapses onto the bed beside him in a fit of giggles without remembering _what_ they’re even laughing about.

As they both quiet, Carla finds herself smiling up at the ceiling. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt this content in her life. She turns her head on the comforter to gaze at Samuel.

And she’s just drunk enough to ask, “So, you dated Marina?”

She expects him to look uncomfortable, but to her surprise, he just chuckles. “You found out about that, huh?”

“Was it supposed to be a secret?” The thought makes her frown. 

“No, it’s just… it happened so long ago, that’s all.”

“Oh,” she says. “That’s what she told me.”

“Yeah, we were sixteen. I was a dork, not really good with girls, but it was different with her.” She lowers her gaze as he looks back up towards the ceiling and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

She knows she should leave it at that, but.

“Why’d you break up?”

He turns his head, eyes searching hers for a moment. She doesn’t know what he’s looking for. She also doesn’t know if he found it or not when his shoulders shift in a slow shrug and he answers, “We just weren’t meant for each other, I guess.”

Carla nods. Hates the not-so-tiny voice in her mind that says _good._

“I know I probably should’ve mentioned something, but like I said, ancient history,” he adds.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she replies, voice quiet. _You don’t owe me this fake marriage,_ she wants to say, but can’t.

She’s had two days with these people and she’s already having trouble picturing what her life would be like without their smiles and jokes and laughter still in it. She can’t imagine what it must have been like for him not to see them for years at a time, and to think he’d continue to give that up to help her… it somehow has her feeling entirely grateful and even more horrible at the same time. 

Of course, she knows he’s probably not doing it for her. She promised him she would publish his neighbor’s book and give him a promotion, and now they’re both deep enough in this that his freedom is on the line. She can’t delude herself with the idea that Samuel is selflessly trying to save her like some sort of knight in shining armor, but still.

“You must hate me,” she finds herself saying.

His eyebrows furrow immediately. “What? No, of course not. What makes you say that?”

“I never gave you time off. And seeing how happy you looked today… I know that it has to do with being surrounded by your family again,” she whispers. “I kept you from that.”

“Hey, do you know how many times Guzmán told me to quit? A lot. But I never did, I-I couldn’t.” There’s a heavy meaning there that her drunk brain can’t quite comprehend, but he doesn’t elaborate on that. “So it’s not your fault, Carla.”

She falls quiet. Stares into the dark expanse of their room. 

“Why did you punch Derek that morning?”

A pause. “He deserved it.”

Carla slowly rolls onto her shoulder so that she’s facing him. “But you didn’t just do it because he deserved it. You did it for me.”

It’s not a question, but Samuel’s head still moves in the barest of nods even as he keeps his gaze trained forward. “Yeah.”

Like this morning, she lets her eyes roam across his features; the wavy hair falling over his forehead, the sharp edge of his nose, the soft jut of his lips, the thick line of his eyelashes. 

Then, because she’s _drunk,_ she leans forward, braces her hand on his chest, and gently presses her lips to his cheek.

“You’re the only person who has ever taken care of me,” she murmurs, words brushing his skin.

She leans her head on his shoulder and falls asleep before he can recover enough to say anything.


	5. for better or for worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really wanted to get this posted before tomorrow, because i WILL be binging someone has to die! i’m so excited to watch it/ester in something again even if it isn’t elite skfjskfj. and i’m also excited to share this chapter with you all :)

“Can you tell me where we’re going now?”

Samuel grins at Carla over his shoulder. Despite her question, she’s not looking at him expectantly but frowning down at her own footing, and he can’t help but find her current mood amusing. He’s watched her handle all sorts of stubborn clients over the past few years with an impressive amount of level-headedness and restraint, but apparently a ten-minute hike on a flat dirt trail is where her patience draws the line.

There’s a tiny pinch between her eyebrows, and her lips are pursed together. The latter just reminds him of how she’d kissed him last night—as if he’s even forgotten, because he doesn’t think that’ll happen for the rest of his life. He can still feel her hand on his collarbone, can still smell her, too; that same sweet, floral scent underlined by the rosé she and Lu had been drinking. And he can still feel the brush of those very lips against his cheek, how soft they were, how warm, how inviting.

But he can also still hear what words they’d formed around just moments before she leaned in. _You’re the only person who has ever taken care of me._ That just made him feel sick—and a little angry, to be honest, and he swears in that moment he would have punched a thousand more Dereks on her behalf. He still would, but there are also other, less violent ways to look after someone, hence why they’re here.

Even so, he’s still going to keep their destination a secret. He wants to surprise her, but also, that annoyed look is cute.

“We’re almost there, I promise,” he insists, biting his lip to hide his smile when Carla releases a tiny sigh. 

He supposes her lack of enthusiasm probably has to do with the fact that she had opened her eyes this morning to him standing over her already fully dressed and holding a backpack much like the one slung over his shoulders, ominously telling her to _get up, get dressed, and wear another bikini under your clothes_ before she even had a chance to say good morning. If that wasn’t it, then it also might have been the way he’d told her to switch out her flip-flops for a pair of running shoes when she met him downstairs, because she probably thought they were just heading back down to the lake. Moreover, she didn’t even have running shoes. He had to borrow a pair from Marina.

To be honest, he thinks her irritation is stemming from all of the above, as well as because she’s mildly hungover. But again, where they’re going will help with that. 

Samuel decides to keep her mind off of it with small talk in the meantime. “Maya and Yas seem to really love you.”

Her frown instantly dissolves into a smile. “They’re adorable.”

“Do you have a lot of experience with kids?”

“Not at all. I don’t think I’ve ever even been within five feet of any outside of the grocery store or passing a family on the sidewalk, actually.”

He chuckles. “Well, you’re a natural. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Maya’s way shyer than Yas. It takes a lot for her to open up around strangers, and she’s already attached to you.”

It had taken him by surprise, frankly; the way his niece had stuck by Carla’s side once he brought her into the lake yesterday. And seeing Amaya sleeping on her in the car later on had filled him with so much unexplainable warmth; he hates that he hadn’t been able to take a picture of them before Carla caught him staring. 

“Auntie Carla has a nice ring to it,” he adds in a joke, lightly bumping his shoulder against Carla’s and relishing in how her cheeks faintly fill with color.

“I’m honored that she warmed up to me so quickly,” she says. After a moment, her gaze falls back to the ground as she grows more serious. “I mean, almost everyone has accepted me with open arms. Honestly… I feel a little undeserving of it.”

Something pinches in Samuel’s chest. He abruptly stops, catching her by the elbow. She glances up at him, and he stares into her eyes. “Carla, of course you deserve it.”

The smile comes back. Smaller now, but a smile all the same.

“I just feel guilty lying to them,” she admits.

“But the only thing you’re lying to them about is us. Or, the us that they think we are.”

“Yesterday, the girls told me that they can see how happy I make you. I—”

“Carla,” he says again, lifting his hand to hold her other elbow and turning her so that she’s facing him. “They don’t like you just because you make me happy.”

Her eyes widen at the words, and Samuel feels a blush of his own coming on now as he realizes what he just said. But as he thinks about it, he also realizes just how _true_ that sentence is. 

He’s always been attracted to her—really, he thinks everyone probably is, no matter their opinion of her—and if he digs deeper, he supposes he’s always had somewhat of a genuine crush on her, too. On top of her beauty, she’s smart, _strong_ , and magnetic, so how could he not?

These last couple of days have shown him new things, though. She’s surprisingly gentle, and witty, and her laugh is definitely one of the most addicting sounds he’s ever heard, even more addicting than the thrill of drawing it out of her. The cold woman everyone at work knows her as is, like he’s always suspected, not the real Carla at all. The real one is vulnerable, and he imagines it isn’t easy for her to let people see her this way, so he’s honored, too.

And starting to realize that whatever he feels for her has evolved past a light crush. It kind of knocks the wind out of his lungs. 

Even still, it’s not like Carla will ever remotely feel the same about him—he’s just the guy who’s helping her out of a bind. And she’s _Carla._ What would a woman like her see in an idiot like him?

“What I meant,” he stammers, pushing all of his recent revelations aside with a flick of his tongue over his suddenly dry lips, “was they like you for _you._ And your personality isn’t something that you’re lying to them about.”

She still doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Yeah,” she says distantly. “I guess.”

Samuel smiles, and her eyelashes flutter as he soothes his thumb along the soft skin of her inner elbow. “I mean it. You do trust me, right? Because it’d be pretty dumb of you to choose me as your partner in crime if you didn’t.”

“You suck at cheering people up,” she says, but the way she shoves him away is playful—and she’s twisting her lips to hide her grin—so he knows she’s lying. 

“Come on, we’re close,” he laughs. “It’s just through here.”

Carla doesn’t look too thrilled about the fact that he’s pointing in a direction the trail does not lead in, but she also doesn’t complain or frown again as she follows him onto the slightly rougher terrain. She manages well, but he still offers her his hand and hoists her up when they get to the top, and then he tries not to fidget in nervous anticipation of her approval when she looks up and sees what’s lying before them. 

“Uh, it’s a hot spring,” he says after several seconds of silence, glad that she’s still too busy staring to notice how he winces immediately afterwards. Of course she knows it’s a hot spring, what else could a literal steaming pond of water in the middle of nowhere be?

Carla takes a few slow steps forward. She looks around at the tall trees surrounding them, the mossy rocks on the edge of the water, and the random spattering of white wildflowers in the overgrown grass beneath their feet, before finally turning to look at him.

“When did you find this place?” 

Her voice is quiet, as if she doesn’t want to disturb the nature. It does feel a little sacred, Samuel has to admit, but he thinks that mostly has to do with the fact that she’s here with him, wearing an amazed little smile on her lips.

“The first time we all came out here,” he answers. “Did you want to get in?”

She nods somewhat eagerly and places her backpack down so that she can pull her hoodie over her head. Samuel begins undressing too, his throat bobbing in a swallow as he eyes her in his peripheral. Her bikini top is white today, and all that skin is having the same effect on him as it did at the lake the day before—that is, making him absolutely dizzy, as well as reminding him how he’d practically felt her up in his sleep.

With that thought, he averts his eyes. He doesn’t need another repeat of yesterday morning happening in his swim trunks. 

After divesting themselves of their shoes and clothes, they both ease into the water. Carla releases a satisfied hum as she does so, eyes momentarily slipping shut in satisfaction.

“God, this feels amazing,” she mutters. “I forgive you for the hike.”

He scoffs in amusement. “It wasn’t even that bad. And you’re clearly in shape.”

“Which I achieve indoors, where there are treadmills and ellipticals instead of dirt and bugs.”

“Of course,” he replies, chuckling.

Carla’s eyes flutter open again. It’s hard not to notice just how _green_ they are amongst all of this nature—he finds himself staring.

“This is nice, though. Really,” she assures him, mistaking his quiet awe of her for insecurity. She tips her head back and gazes around them some more. “I’ve never seen something so beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Samuel says, watching her, “I know the feeling.”

“But why did you bring me here?” She asks after a moment. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful, it’s just… the house has a hot tub. Seems like it would have been significantly less work on your end to just use that.”

The unbidden urge to tell her that she’s _worth_ the work—any amount of it, whether it’s a brief hike through the woods or five years of being her assistant—hits him hard and fast, but he swallows it down just as quickly. 

“I figured you could use a break from everyone,” he says simply. Her eyebrows draw together and her mouth opens, but he holds up a hand to stop her before she can argue. “I know you said that they’re sweet. But I also know firsthand how overwhelming they can all get if you’re not used to them.”

She cocks her head, curious. “Firsthand?”

“Growing up, it was just me, my mom, and my brother. He was always in and out of jail though, and my mom worked all the time. I was by myself a lot. Going from that to being surrounded by seven other people and two children can be a bit much, you know?”

She huffs a small laugh. “Yeah.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love them,” he continues, “but sometimes it still gets a little suffocating. It’s how I discovered this spring—needed a breather, went on a walk, ended up here. I come here whenever I just want to…”

“Escape,” she supplies, voice full of soft understanding. “And I’m the first person you’ve shown this to?”

He smiles, and gives her a wordless nod in reply.

“Why me?”

Now his smile turns a tad bashful. He shrugs, looking away. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”

The gentle movement of water fills his ears, and he stiffens suddenly as he feels Carla’s lips on his cheek again. It lingers less than it had the night before, although it’s still just as mind-numbing. 

“Thank you, Samuel.”

He shakes his head gently; dismissively. “I told you, you deserve it.”

She looks into his eyes. The need to lean in and slant his mouth over hers is _overwhelming,_ but luckily, his resolve isn’t put to the test as Carla offers him a soft smile, then slowly swims out to the middle of the spring.

Samuel follows her after a moment of clearing his head. She’s floating on her back, staring up at the sky, and he mirrors her, close enough that their hands brush together every now and then. They lie there for a short while, just basking in the peaceful tranquility surrounding them. 

“What you said earlier,” she starts quietly. “I do trust you, you know.”

He turns his head a bit to look at her. Doesn’t say anything, because he senses that she’s about to continue.

“Your mom and brother, are you close with them? I know you told Ms. Romero that you don’t talk to your mom often, and your brother…” 

“I am. We’re the type of family that can go a long time without seeing one another without anything changing. Always been that way.”

Her eyes lower to some random point above them, and her lips tip up in a ghost of a smile. It’s that same wistful look she had the first day they got here, actually. When she met everyone.

“My family’s small, too. Just me and my parents. But we’ve never been close.” 

Samuel waits patiently as she seemingly gets lost in her thoughts, before she blinks, tongue darting out between her lips.

“They love me in their own way, I guess. Or… they love me when it’s convenient for them,” she says, and Samuel feels his heart fracture. “They used me as some pretty prop to flaunt around in front of their friends and colleagues, because to them, I was just some cheap plastic trophy. Gold and shiny on the outside, lacking everything else within. I hated it, but I went along with it. Told myself that it could be worse.”

The laugh that leaves her throat next is completely humorless. “And it was. The company started to go bankrupt, so my dad forced me to date this rich guy who could invest, save us. I refused, at first. I wasn’t going to let him just pimp me out, but… he used my mom against me. Said that she was sick, depressed, and despite everything, I couldn’t leave her to that, so…”

Samuel feels something like pure horror roil in his gut. _How could someone do that to their own child?_

And then a thought occurs to him.

“Carla,” he whispers. “How old were you?”

Her lips flatten into a thin line. For a moment, he thinks she’s not going to say anything. “Seventeen,” she answers. His hands immediately ball into fists. “The guy was my age.”

“That doesn’t make it any bett—”

“I know,” she says softly, eyes full of meaning. He quiets, nods, lets her continue. “We dated for around two years. There was this clause in the contracts that said he could pull his funding anytime he wanted for the first five. I thought I could wait it out, but then he proposed to me. And suddenly, I couldn’t resign myself to spending the rest of my life with someone I didn’t love.”

For a moment, Samuel’s thrown by what it means that she’s willing to marry _him,_ even though she doesn’t love him. But then he reminds himself that this is different. This isn’t life-long, and it’s also to keep her from having to go back to Madrid—where her dad is. He gets her desperation now.

“So I told my dad I couldn’t do it anymore. Again, he threw my mom in my face, but I was done. I told her this secret that we’d been keeping from her—only, she apparently knew the whole time, and was letting my dad do that to me. To her own daughter.”

Her voice doesn’t break, but those last four words are so quiet that they’d be swallowed up completely if a gust of wind were to blow past them. That fracture in his heart turns into a full on break, a shatter; and he feels those shards in his stomach, like he’s swallowed glass. 

“After that, I sort of just… spiraled. I got addicted to drugs, but my parents didn’t notice, or care. I was doing what they wanted. And then I almost died. Honestly, I think I really just lost my will to live,” Carla murmurs, and finally, a tear escapes from the corner of her eye, sliding down towards the surface of the water.

Samuel moves his hand up, brushes it away with his thumb. Even as her eyes fill with more tears, she offers him a thankful smile. 

“It got a little better after that, though,” she continues after a bit. “The guy that I was dating… he didn’t know what was happening. After he found out, we broke up, and he completely signed over the company to me. That’s how I became C.E.O. And then I moved to New York shortly thereafter.”

“Good,” Samuel says. “You shouldn’t have to see your fucking parents ever again.”

Carla finally sits up, smoothing her wet hair down her back. “The thing is, I’m pretty sure this whole thing is my dad’s doing.” At Samuel’s puzzled look, she elaborates, “The anonymous tip to immigration, me almost being forced to leave the country. He wants me back in Spain. If he can show the board that I’m not fit to run the company, they can vote to have him reinstated. And then I’m back under his thumb.”

“I won’t let that happen, Carla,” he replies firmly, sitting up, too. He grabs her hand under the water. “I promise.”

He’s sure he’d do this for her even if he wasn’t getting anything out of it. 

“And I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that,” he adds. “And that nobody sees you for the amazing woman you really are. But also, they’re not worthy of knowing her. I don’t think anyone is.”

She stares at him in shock for a brief second, before that expression is blinked away. “I don’t know, I think I can name a few people.” Samuel shares her knowing grin. “In a weird way, I’m kind of happy my dad pulled that stunt. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Here in this hot spring?” He jokes.

“Here with you,” Carla says. His smile fades somewhat as he searches her gaze, searching for anything that his heart and wishful thinking can grasp onto, but she lowers hers quickly. “Here in Tahoe, with everyone.”

He ignores that brief tug at his gut to honestly tell her, “I’m kind of happy, too.”

The both of them stay in the water for another half hour or so, talking here and there about random things. Eventually, they spread out on the grass to dry off and also have a picnic, once Samuel reveals how Carla’s backpack had been stuffed with the food he’d put together while she was still sleeping this morning. They munch on chorizo sandwiches and cut fruit, sipping from water or the juice boxes he’d pilfered from the pantry—and that were clearly stocked for Yasmin and Amaya; Carla had laughed at him when she pulled them out of her bag—because he couldn’t find any soda, and it’s nice. Easy. 

Easy to convince himself that this could be just like a first date, at least. Funny, since they’re already engaged. 

When they’re done eating, Carla plucks a few of the tiny wildflowers from the grass and tucks them behind her ears, and she is so beautiful that he aches. It’s a different type of beauty, though. It’s an innocent sort, and he doesn’t ever want to leave this hot spring if it means she’ll look like this until the end of time.

Unfortunately, he knows that that isn’t possible, and within the hour they get redressed, pack up their things, and head back down the hill. The walk along the trail is comfortably quiet, but as the house comes into view, Samuel finds himself disrupting it.

“Hey,” he says, catching Carla by the wrist to stop her. She does, raising her eyebrows at him curiously. “Thank you for telling me that back there. I know it was hard for you, and you… you didn’t have to.”

Carla smiles, sliding her hand up so she can entwine their fingers together. “I wanted to,” she replies. “Like I said, I trust you.”

“And based on what you told me, I know you don’t trust a lot of people. So, really. Thank you.”

Her eyes soften for a moment as she looks deep into his own. Then she inches closer to him, lifting her other hand to rest on his nape, fingers idly playing with the hairs there. 

“Well, you’re welcome,” she says, her smile turning playful. “After all, a husband and wife aren’t supposed to keep secrets from one another, right?”

He smirks. “Mm. We aren’t husband and wife yet.”

Carla’s gaze darts to his lips, lingering there, and he absently licks them as he counts every single freckle dusted over the tops of her cheeks and bridge of her nose. Countless, just like the seconds stretching between them. Just like the amount of times he’s thought about kissing her this morning alone.

She tips her chin up, just a fraction. He starts to lean in.

Then, “We found you!” a high voice excitedly screeches, and he and Carla spring away from each other so fast that he almost gets whiplash from it.

He recovers just in time to see Amaya and Yasmin running at them, catching the latter against his legs as she wraps them in a hug. He hoists her up, eyes meeting Carla’s from over his niece’s shoulder one last time; however, she quickly glances away from him and her stunned expression is deftly replaced by a megawatt smile as Amaya walks up to her. 

He does the same, beaming at the little girl in his arms and pretending as if he wasn’t just two seconds away _from_ _kissing Carla._ “You were looking for us?” 

“Auntie Lu said we’re supposed to bring you to the house,” Yasmin answers, sounding as cryptic as a five year-old can.

He quirks an eyebrow. “Can I ask why?”

She grins. “Nope!”

“It’s a surprise,” Amaya inputs from where she’s standing at Carla’s side, holding her hand.

“Alright, then,” Carla says amusedly, and Amaya is already tugging her forward. “Lead the way.”

Samuel trails a few feet behind them, Yas now on his shoulders. He watches as Carla plucks one of the wildflowers from behind her ear and tucks it into the young girl’s wild hair, and the two chat amiably, their entwined hands gently swinging back-and-forth. Samuel’s just far enough that he can’t actually hear whatever they’re talking about, but it doesn’t matter, anyway—he’s too lost in his thoughts to listen. 

He and Carla almost kissed. She _wanted_ to kiss him, and not just on the cheek. But… wanting to kiss someone doesn’t necessarily mean having feelings for them, right? This doesn’t really confirm anything besides the fact that she finds him attractive enough to kiss, and—well, wait, what if she had just been caught up in the moment? _Worse,_ what if she was just feeling vulnerable after their conversation at the hot spring and was seeking some comfort?

_What if she’s relieved it didn’t happen?_

Perhaps he should be relieved, too. Because if they’d kissed and she doesn’t feel the same way about him as he does about her, then subjecting himself to being married to her would definitely be a special kind of torture he isn’t entirely sure he’d survive. 

“Uncle Samu,” Yasmin suddenly—and impatiently—whispers in his ear, “you’re going so _slow._ ”

He blinks, realizing that the small gap between the two of them and Amaya and Carla has almost doubled. “Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles, picking back up to a normal pace. 

“Were you thinking about something?”

He bobs his head. “I was a little distracted.”

“Were you thinking about _Carla?_ ” She asks slyly, and he doesn’t have to look to know she’s wearing an expression to match it. 

“Yeah, I was,” Samuel scoffs. He can practically feel how Yasmin is beaming smugly. 

“She’s really pretty. And nice,” his niece comments. “I like her a lot.”

At that moment, Carla glances at them from over her shoulder, tucking a piece of hair away from her face. She’s smiling at something Amaya’s just said to her, but she shoots Samuel a quizzical look, probably wondering why he and Yasmin are so far away. He waves her off in reassurance, and her gaze dallies for a few more seconds before she finally turns around.

“Me too,” he sighs once she does.

_It’s a bit of a problem._

They catch back up to Carla and Amaya quickly. “Everything alright?” Carla asks him, and he thinks she might be talking about something else, about _them_ and what just almost-happened, based on how she’s looking at him. She seems… nervous. Maybe she _does_ regret how close they came to kissing.

That fills him with complete disappointment, and he hopes it doesn’t show in the small grin that he gives her. “Yeah, totally fine,” he replies, keeping his tone light. 

Samuel feels her watching him, _analyzing_ him, but thankfully, she doesn’t question him any further, just mutters an “okay” before the four of them turn onto the driveway. By the time they get to the front door, Yasmin orders them to stop.

“You have to close your eyes now,” she stresses, and promptly covers Samuel’s for him with her hands.

“I’m guessing we don’t have a choice,” he says. What in the hell could his friends be planning?

“Auntie Rebe said we have permission to fight you if you don’t listen,” Yasmin tells him.

“Yeah, but then your mom said we couldn’t,” Amaya replies.

“ _Maya,_ ” her cousin hisses.

Carla chuckles. “Okay, my eyes are closed. Ready?”

From above him, Yasmin makes a noise of affirmation, and then orders him to start walking once he hears the door open. He inches inside.

“Surprise!” A chorus of voices ring out. As Yasmin removes her hands, Samuel blinks his eyes open to find all of his friends gathered in the living room, surrounded by all types of decorations, including an honest-to-god white balloon arch.

He and Carla glance at one another, sharing confused smiles.

“Uh… what’s going on?” He asks, letting Yasmin slide off his shoulders. “What’s all this for?”

Lu just beams back at them excitedly. “Well, last night, we all got to thinking—”

“Meaning _she_ got to thinking and roped all of us into agreeing with her,” Valerio cuts in where he’s sprawled over an armchair—the only person not standing—while Rebe snorts in agreement.

“ _And,_ ” Lu continues, glaring at the both of them momentarily before another dazzling smile stretches across her lips, “we thought you should get married now!”

“ _What?”_ Samuel and Carla ask at the same time, incredulous. 

“Well, not _now_ , but this weekend,” Lu clarifies, as if that’s going to make either of them feel any better.

Samuel starts shaking her head. “No, Lu, we can’t—”

She lifts an eyebrow. “And why not?”

“This is supposed to be your vacation,” Carla tries now. “It’s about you guys. We don’t want to take that from you.”

“Darling,” Lu says, walking forward and grasping Carla’s hands in her own. “This is about _family_ , and you’re one of us now, okay? Yesterday, you said you don’t have anyone in the States and that you can’t go back to Madrid, either. But we’re all here right now, and who knows when we’ll all be together again. This is a _perfect_ time.”

Carla just smiles hesitantly in response, warily eyeing Samuel for help in her peripheral. He clears his throat. “Seriously, we can’t get married this week. It’s too last minute.”

Omar chuckles. “Dude, if you think that’s going to stop Lu from throwing a hell of a party, then you have clearly never met her.”

“Yeah,” Ander agrees. “Remember Halloween our last year of high school? She had to put that party together in under six hours. There was a corn maze _and_ a haunted house.”

“And that wasn’t even my best work, honestly,” Lu says, smug.

Samuel inwardly winces. They’re being talked into a corner, with no way out. Unless—

“What about my mom?” He asks, trying not to sound overly eager about throwing a wrench into his friends’ plans. “She doesn’t even know I’m engaged yet. And if she misses my wedding, she’s going to be pissed. It’s too late for her to take off work.”

“We already called her. She wasn’t very happy about finding out you’ve been dating someone and never told her, but we explained everything to her, and she agrees that this is a great time. She’s going to be on video call, and then we figured that whenever Carla _can_ go back to Madrid, we’ll just throw an even bigger wedding there,” Marina says.

Samuel deflates. “Oh… well—”

Lu rolls her eyes. “Listen, you’re going to get married anyway, right?” 

“...Right,” he answers apprehensively.

“Then why not do it now, when you’re surrounded by people who love you?” Lu suddenly huffs a derisive laugh. “Or, what, were you just planning on going down to the courthouse and signing documents?”

He and Carla chuckle awkwardly at that joke, because, well. That’s exactly what they were going to do.

They stare at each other, silently communicating. They _are_ going to get married eventually; probably as soon as they return to New York. It’s not like they have all the time in the world… and a party with all his friends does sound way better than a ten-minute process in front of a judge.

But he thinks about what Carla said to him on their hike. _I just feel guilty lying to them._ And even though he meant what _he_ said in response to that and still does, he also knows that this makes things a little different. He can’t make this decision for Carla, not if she truly is uncomfortable, so he subtly nods his head at her to indicate that he’ll follow her lead.

Carla sighs. 

Then she gives Lu a beautiful smile and says, “Alright.”

*

Everyone erupts into cheers as soon as that word leaves Carla’s mouth. Everyone except for Guzmán, who stays right where he is at the back of the room as his friends and family shout or pop champagne or go in for hugs, keeping his watchful gaze on her and Samuel.

They don’t look like a happily in love, to-be-married couple.

They look  _ alarmed, _ and like they’re trying really, really hard to hide it.

What’s frustrating is that Guzmán, apparently, is the only person here who can see that. He’s the only one thinking clearly, the only one who can tell that something about Carla and Samuel’s whole “relationship” doesn’t feel right, the only one who seems to care that Samuel is making a huge fucking mistake. For why, though, Guzmán’s only just recently started to find out.

At first, he thought it was a money thing. Carla’s got enough of it to buy five lake houses without blinking an eye, he’s sure, but he can’t imagine Samuel getting into some girl’s pants just for some cash. That isn’t like him, and besides, he’s never been one to care about money, anyway. And it’s not as if it makes sense the other way around, either—if Carla lost all her fortune and was trying to stick to her lifestyle by marrying some guy who could support it, Samuel is definitely not the perfect choice. Before he started working for her, he’d been completely broke.

So maybe, Guzmán thought, Samuel’s just thinking with his dick? Deluding himself into believing he’s in love with this woman, who only ever seems to treat him like some object in her life; working him to exhaustion, never giving him vacations, treating him like a whipped dog who asks  _ how high _ as soon as she says  _ jump. _ Guzmán has to admit, Carla is an attractive woman, but she has that sort of beauty that makes guys lose all of their common sense. The sort that has them willing to do just about anything for her, including turning up with a random engagement.

But that also left the still-unanswered question of:  _ what is Carla getting out of this? _

Then yesterday morning, she’d practically answered that herself when she mentioned how she’s in America on a visa. Because Guzmán knows that if that visa were to be revoked or rejected, she’d be forced to leave the country.

That is, unless she was married to a U.S. citizen, thereby making her one, too. 

He still isn’t sure why she’d be so reluctant to go back to Spain, but he also doesn’t really give a shit, not if she’s dragged Samuel into this mess. And it has to be against his will, because lying about this type of thing is a federal crime; he’d end sitting in a prison cell. Guzmán knows how desperate Samuel’s always been to not end up just like his brother, so what could possibly convince him to go along with this stunt? What is Carla holding over his head?

Whatever it is, Guzmán’s going to find out. But first, he’s going to put a stop to this whole ridiculous fucking thing before it goes farther even more than it already has.

With everyone distracted, he slips out the back door leading onto the balcony, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he goes. It only takes a simple Google search to find the number to New York City’s immigration office, and as he presses call, he raises his phone to his ear with his lips set in grim determination.

If the government finds out that this marriage is a lie, then Carla will be deported—and hopefully, out of Samuel’s life for good.

He’s just doing what’s best for his friend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guzmán ur s1 overbearing asshole is showing <3
> 
> to the anon on tumblr who said they really hope carmuel kisses this chapter, i’m sorry! i felt guilty because i already had their almost kisses already written dlfjdlfj. but if it’s any consolation, i want them to get their shit together just as much as you guys do, and don’t worry, but Things will be happening soon :)


	6. for richer, for poorer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for mentions of homophobia in this chapter, but it’s nothing too graphic

Carla has the distinct feeling that Samuel is avoiding her.

Of course, the fact that he’d hardly spoken more than two words to her once they got back to the house yesterday isn’t his fault. They were literally bombarded with the wedding thing, then thrown headfirst into celebrations, and _then_ grilled for hours by Lu on all wedding-related discussions. They just didn’t have a chance to speak alone, and by the time Lu finally let them go to their room, the pair were too exhausted from the day’s events and everything that had just been thrown at them to do anything more than take turns in the shower and then collapse into bed. Carla had also been emotionally drained from their conversation at the hot spring on top of everything else. She’d fallen asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

When she woke up this morning, however, Samuel wasn’t beside her. The sheets were cold when she ran her hand over them, which meant that it’d been a while since he’d gotten up, too. That wasn’t immediately telling, but it still left her with a sort of unease tugging at her gut that she initially chalked up to just having grown used to him next to her. Waking up to an empty bed hadn’t felt right, even though she’s been doing it a hell of a lot longer than the three days she and Samuel have been sharing one. 

He wasn’t in the shower either, though, or downstairs eating breakfast with the others. He was just… gone. Well, his stuff was still in the drawers when Carla checked, so he just wasn’t in the house, at least. She’d decided not to text him asking where he was. He probably just needed space, some time to think to himself, but now it’s been over two hours and she _still_ has no idea where he is. They really need to talk. And not just about the ceremony on Saturday, but also about how they nearly kissed, which she’s pretty sure is the whole entire reason why he’s avoiding her in the first place.

Samuel was being weird yesterday on their way back from the hot spring. Stiff, but also overly flippant at the same time, and when she asked him if he was okay, he lied to her. Unconvincingly, too; he really is terrible at it. Carla would find it endearing, if she wasn’t internally freaking out about it instead. She gets that when Samuel signed up for this, he didn’t sign up for her coming onto him as well. What they’re doing here, what they’re lying about, is just _business,_ and she almost let her feelings for him—the ones she’s had for a long time now, if she’s being honest with herself, and have only rapidly festered since they arrived here—ruin that. Ruin _this._

And she doesn’t mean ruin their deal; Samuel wouldn’t back out because she has unrequited feelings for him, he’s too honest to do that. She means ruin _them,_ this thing between them that has strengthened over the last few days. She obviously doesn’t want to be deported either, but moreso, she doesn’t want to lose this connection she has with Samuel. Even if nothing romantic is ever borne out of it, just as long as it remains, she’ll be fine.

Carla believes that. She does. She has to.

She also has to distract herself from all her thoughts as soon as possible, because she’s starting to go a little insane. With a sigh, she gets up from the lounge chair on the balcony of her and Samuel’s room, slipping inside. A tiny part of her is still hoping to see him somewhere as she heads back downstairs, but the house is quiet, and the only person she does find is Lu, curled up on the couch and looking just as stuck in her head as Carla had been a minute ago. The brunette spots her fairly quickly and attempts to wipe the anxious expression off her face with a smile, but Carla’s already noticed it.

She worriedly furrows her eyebrows as she comes to sit beside her. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

Lu’s smile flickers a bit, having been caught, but she ultimately gives Carla a tiny nod. “Yeah, just… shit with my parents,” she answers, sighing and waving her phone a little to indicate she’d been talking to them. 

Carla presses her lips together. “I know what you mean. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Thanks, but it’s nothing. I’ll be okay,” Lu replies, reaching over to squeeze her hand in gratitude.

Not wanting to push it, Carla just nods. She gets not wanting to discuss parents just as much as she gets having issues with them, and she also senses that Lu wants the subject to change, so she decides to do just that. 

“Do you know where everyone went?” Carla asks, looking around.

“Marina and Nadia took the girls to the park, and the boys are all busy planning.” Before Carla can ask what that means, Lu continues, “Rebe and Samu haven’t returned yet?”

“Returned from where?”

“Samu said he needed to blow off some steam, so they went to go spar for a bit. There’s a gym nearby. He didn’t tell you?”

 _No, because I’m the steam he needs to blow off._ Carla ignores the twist in her stomach and lies, “I was still sleeping. He probably just didn’t want to wake me.”

“I wish he spared me the same thought when he came knocking on our door earlier,” the other girl jokes.

“You said they went sparring?” Lu nods. “Is that something they do a lot?”

“Oh, Rebe’s the one who taught him how to box.”

“He boxes?” Carla asks, momentarily forgetting that, as his fiancée, this is probably something she should already know about him. 

“Of course. Does he not back in the city?”

“We’re… usually too busy to squeeze in much gym time into our schedules,” she covers quickly. It’s not a lie, at least not for her; she usually multitasks by doing a quick cardio workout in the morning while reading over manuscripts or e-mails in her apartment. She can’t even remember the last time she stepped foot in a public gym.

Lu’s expression turns salacious. “Oh, I see. Keeping in shape with sex, eh?”

While Carla’s never been much of a blusher, for some reason that unfortunately isn’t the case when it comes to Samuel. She tries to ignore the images currently being conjured in her head and doesn’t succeed, not even in the slightest, so the embarrassed quality to the nod and light laugh she lets out in response isn’t entirely faked.

“Don’t worry, I won’t grill you for details,” Lu says, playfully nudging her in the side.

“How considerate of you,” Carla jokes, making sure to hide how she fills with relief. She doesn’t think she’d be able to handle telling Lu sordid details of her and Samuel’s very nonexistent sex life. For one, that’s definitely a line she shouldn’t cross, and two, she doesn’t need to add a voice to all of her curiosities—and, okay, fantasies—surrounding Samuel in bed. 

_Especially_ not after the morning wood incident.

The other girl wrinkles her nose, waving her hand dismissively. “No, just not really my thing.”

Carla nods knowingly. She never thought she’d be so grateful for the fact that Lu solely likes women. “You know, I told you how Samuel and I got together, but you never said how you and Rebe started dating.”

“It’s kind of anticlimactic really, given how we started.”

“What do you mean?”

An amused smirk stretches across Lu’s lips. “Would you believe me if I told you that we hated each other in school?”

“Oh, definitely,” Carla immediately replies, drawing a laugh out of her friend. “You’re both way too similar not to butt heads.”

“Yeah, well, if you said that to me when I was a teenager… let’s just say I wasn’t always this pleasant,” she remarks lightly. “I mean, now I know Rebe pissed me off so much because I was attracted to her and didn’t know how to make sense of it. It was a bad habit of mine, honestly, before I realized that I wasn’t interested in men. But then we got pretty close after graduation—just as friends, at first. I was actually the one who convinced her to study fashion design. I was _also_ the one to make the first move. Rebe flirts a lot, but when she really likes someone, she gets all shy and indirect. If I left it up to her, we would’ve never gotten anywhere.”

Carla smiles at the soft expression on Lu’s face, the brunette clearly getting swept up in her memories. “Well, I’m happy you did. It’s clear you two love each other a lot.”

She means the words, even if her heart clenches with envy as she says them. _Because I’ll never have that._

Right then, and as if on cue, the front door opens and Samuel and Rebeka come walking inside. His grin at whatever Rebe’s just said to him freezes somewhat when he turns his head and locks eyes with Carla, and she presses her lips into a thin line.

Her anxiety about yesterday abruptly just turns into anger. Did he think he could avoid her all day?

Suddenly, she doesn’t want to see him either, anymore. As Lu stands and heads over to kiss her girlfriend hello, getting swept up in a conversation with her, Carla slips out and heads into the kitchen. 

She’s lost in her own head, absently pouring herself a glass of water when she hears, “Hey. How was your morning?”

“It was fine,” she answers stiffly, not turning around to look at Samuel as she does. “Yours?”

She can hear the smile in the scoff he lets out. “Tiring, honestly.”

“Mm. Lu told me you and Rebe went boxing.”

“Yeah, she kicked my ass. More than usual, even.” It’s probably meant to make her laugh. When all she does is hum again, he asks hesitantly, “Carla, are you okay? Did something happen?”

Honestly, that only serves to annoy—and confuse—her even more, because what the hell is his deal?

“No, nothing happened,” she lies, but he clearly doesn’t believe her, because she senses his concern at the same time as she senses him come closer. She tries not to stiffen; the proximity is both stifling and magnetic, and pathetically, she’s missed it after a mere morning of its absence.

“Is… is this because I almost kissed you?” Her eyes finally flick over to him, and much to her surprise, he almost looks _guilty._ Carla frowns a little, parting her lips to reply, but Samuel keeps talking before she can. “Because that didn’t mean anything.”

It’s exactly what she’d wanted to tell him to get him to stop acting weird about it, so why is she feeling the complete opposite of relieved right now? 

She swallows it down, keeping her composure. “No?”

Immediately, Samuel shakes his head. “No, it didn’t. It was just a mistake,” he insists, making her stomach drop further with each word.

But he’s right, probably. And it would have been an even bigger mistake if they actually had kissed, because then this would just sting more than it already does—and it would be infinitely harder to put behind them. 

Samuel’s clearly trying to do that right now, so Carla forces a smile onto her face before she makes this— _them_ —unsalvageable. 

“I agree,” she says. “It was nothing. I mean, it didn’t even happen.”

He blinks. For a second, she thinks she might see something like _disappointment_ flicker across his features, but it’s gone just as quickly. “Well, great. That’s great.” He jerkily nods his head before eyeing her nervously. “So… we’re okay?”

“Yeah, Samuel,” she sighs, gentler than she means to. “We’re okay.”

He beams at her, dimples popping out in his cheeks, and Carla thinks to herself, _but_ I’m _definitely fucked._

Lu enters the kitchen, walking up behind Carla and hugging her around the shoulders. She sniffs the air and makes a face at Samuel. “You stink.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was just about to go take a shower.”

“Good, because I’m stealing your fiancée from you.”

“Stealing me to do what?” Carla asks, arching an eyebrow at her.

“To get ready, of course,” the other girl answers. “Or did you think I was going to let you get married without throwing you a bachelorette party?”

“Lu…” Carla begins, feeling the shame that’s been steadfastly building since they got here burning hot in her insides. 

“Please, don’t start with the protests again,” she cuts her off. “Samuel’s getting a party too, don’t worry. Tomorrow, the boys are taking him out, but tonight, they’re on babysitting duty while Rebe, Nadia, Marina, and I show you a good time. Maybe enough of one to finally convince you to ditch him.”

“Funny,” Samuel says flatly in response to Lu’s suggestive look.

“Kidding, kidding.” She shoots him a bright smile, then waves him away. “I wasn’t about the whole ‘you stink’ thing, though. Go shower.”

“As bossy as ever,” he replies, although he sounds fond. He picks up his bag from where it’s resting on the counter and begins to leave the room, casting one last look at Carla before he disappears around the corner. 

She tears her gaze away just as Lu squeezes her in excitement and says, “Tonight’s going to be _so_ fun.”

*

A few hours later, Carla and the girls are sitting in the car about to head into town when the backseat door opens and Valerio pokes his curly-haired head inside.

“Lu, you weren’t going to leave without me, were you?” He fake-pouts at where his sister is rolling her eyes next to Rebeka in the farthest row of seats. 

“Obviously not,” Lu replies. “Not by choice, anyway. Nadia’s the designated driver. She wouldn’t let me.”

“I thought the boys were supposed to be watching Maya and Yas tonight?” Carla asks with a smirk as Valerio slides in beside her.

He grins. “An exception is always made for the life of the party.”

“More like, he never passes up on the opportunity to party,” Nadia remarks.

“Hey, he needs a break from all the makeovers your daughter and niece keep giving him,” Marina chuckles from the passenger seat. 

“You’re only on board with it because _your_ brother isn’t here,” Lu points out. “Anyway, can we go now?”

The nightclub Nadia drives them to is about as small as Carla thought it would be when Lu first told her where they were going earlier, but it’s definitely more packed than she anticipated. Still, she’s used to the noise and bodies—unlike the gym, she’s been to her fair share of clubs in New York, and this is almost nothing compared to them. 

That might have to do with how she’s surrounded by friends right now, just looking to have fun. Usually, she’s by herself and on the hunt for a body to go home with, in-and-out within forty-five minutes. Tonight, however, she allows herself to get pulled onto the dance floor and lets loose like she hasn’t in a very long time, singing and spinning and _laughing_. As the hours go by, it’s easy to forget about her guilt. It’s even easier to not think about Samuel and how things between them, despite their earlier conversation, are becoming worryingly complicated.

That is, it’s easy until she’s waiting at the bar by herself and some guy starts hitting on her. 

He asks her the standard questions of _can I buy you a drink?_ and _where’s your accent from?_ that she always gets. However, instead of checking him out, sizing him up, and biting the bullet for a couple rounds of empty sex like she normally would, Carla tells him that she’s engaged. That’s not out of the ordinary; if she were with any of the others, she obviously would’ve said the same thing. The problem is that she said it like it was the wholehearted truth, like it was her natural reaction, like she’s actually Samuel’s and he’s actually hers… and that kind of freaks her out so much that she doesn’t hear anything else the guy says before he loses interest and walks away.

If Carla could ignore the part of her brain that automatically began comparing him to Samuel when he started talking to her for one second, she’d be able to admit that the guy was cute. And if she and Samuel were here in Tahoe just as friends, or if she were back in New York, she probably would’ve let him take her home. 

But now, the mere thought of sleeping in a bed with someone who isn’t Samuel just puts a bad taste in her mouth, and _that_ has her feeling sick, because what if this feeling doesn’t leave her at all? What is she supposed to do when she and Samuel are done with this whole charade—just go back to how things were? She’s not sure she can. 

Her head spinning, Carla pushes off of the bar and weaves her way to the bathroom. She stumbles inside, ignoring the weird looks a trio of girls give her as she passes them on her way to the sinks. She tight clutches the edges of one and takes deep breaths until she no longer feels like she’s going to hyperventilate or throw up, then stares at her reflection in the mirror.

In her flawless makeup, twisted-up hair, and tight dress, she doesn’t look any different than usual, but on the inside, she knows she is. She’s not as lonely as she once was. She’s happy and it’s completely terrifying, because this happiness has an expiration date. For Carla, happiness is never meant to last.

She’d been right: this time with Samuel and these people who treat her like she’s genuinely one of their own isn’t worth the pain that’s going to hit her once it’s over. This time is just cruel. In Samuel’s words, all of this had been a mistake.

If she knew what she was going to get herself into, maybe she would’ve just spared herself the pain and gone back to Madrid instead. 

“What the fuck was I thinking?” Carla mutters to herself, and is answered by a choked sound from somewhere behind her. 

She frowns and looks over her shoulder, listening. The sound comes again. Carla follows it, walking away from the sink towards the stalls lined up along the wall, and stops in front of the last one at the end of the row. From this close, she can tell that the noise is a _sniffle._ Whoever is on the other side is crying. 

Carla glances down, recognizing the pink tulle peeking out from under the stall door, and pushes it open without a second thought. 

“Lu?” 

The girl is sitting on the floor, her dress puddled around her. As soon as she hears Carla’s voice, she glances up—and Carla feels her heart clench when she sees the broken expression on the brunette’s face and the mascara running down her cheeks.

Immediately, Carla closes the door behind her and rushes over. She crouches beside Lu, looking her over for any sign of injury or telling rips and tears in her dress, but there’s nothing. It’s only a little soiled from touching the ground.

Carla gently grabs her hand. “Lu, what’s wrong?”

“My parents…” She trails off as her lower lip trembles.

“What about your parents?” Then Carla notices the phone gripped in her friend’s hand, and remembers her mentioning the problems she was having with them. “Did something happen between you?”

Lu blinks, fixing Carla with a teary-eyed, sad smile. “They just disowned me.” 

“ _What_?” She asks, completely dumbstruck. “Why?”

“Because I’m a disappointment, just like that lowlife brother of mine. Because I’m bringing shame to the family,” she says in a way that makes Carla think she’s directly quoting somebody. With each word, her face creases more and more until tears are streaming down her face again. “Because I’m a lesbian, and apparently that’s disgusting enough for them to be done with me.”

“Oh, Lu,” Carla whispers, gathering the other girl in her arms. She holds onto Carla like she’s afraid she’s going to sink into the floor, and Carla feels her heart break in half. “They’re wrong. It’s not disgusting, and you shouldn’t be ashamed. They’re _wrong,_ okay?”

“I know that, it’s just… Valerio’s been the black sheep for so long, and I’ve had to be their perfect daughter to make up for it,” she says between sobs. “That’s exhausting enough on its own, and having to hide my sexuality, too? I was tired of it. I love Rebe, and seeing you and Samuel… I know I want to marry her someday.”

Carla shoves down the massive wave of guilt that rears its head at _you and Samuel,_ squeezing Lu tighter. “Believe me when I tell you that I know how it feels to be trapped under your parents’ standards and expectations. And I know that the weight of it all is crushing.”

“You do?” Lu asks after a moment of hesitation.

“I can’t even imagine what it must be like for you, being shunned by your parents because of who you love,” Carla nods, “but having your heart torn in two by them? It’s unfortunately familiar.”

“What did they do to you?”

She side-steps the long answer and quietly says, “The pressure they put me under nearly killed me. Literally. But my point is, they’re the ones who are disappointments, just like your parents. They failed you.” She thinks of what Samuel told her the other day. “They don’t deserve to have you as their daughter. They’re not worthy of it.”

Lu’s smile is a little lighter now, thankful, although it still fades pretty quickly. “But is it stupid of me to still want their approval?”

“Of course not,” Carla says automatically. “It’s not wrong to want their love, either. Even after everything, even though they don’t deserve it. Trust me.”

“Valerio just acts so unaffected by our dad’s opinion of him. He always has.”

“I doubt he would think any less of you for being upset, Lu,” Carla tells her. “In fact, you know as well as I do that he’s going to be pissed at your parents. He might not care about them, but he does care about you. Everyone at the house does.

“It can’t completely erase the hurt you’re feeling, but you have an amazing support system here, okay? You’re not alone,” Carla finishes. She tucks a strand of hair behind Lu’s ear. “Did you want to stay here for a little longer?”

The girl nods, so Carla silently holds her. After a while, Lu murmurs, “Thanks, Carla. I’m really glad I met you.”

Carla’s rueful smile goes unseen over the top of the brunette’s head, but she replaces it with a bright grin as she leans back and rubs Lu’s arm. “Come on, we should find the others and get out of here.”

“No, we can stay. I don’t want to ruin your bachelorette party, just let me—”

“Lu, you’re not ruining anything, I promise,” she gently replies, wrapping her hands around Lu’s wrists when she starts trying to fix her makeup. “Let’s go home.”

She pauses for a second before quietly nodding her head. Carla helps her clean up, then the two of them leave to get the rest of their group. They’re still on the dance floor having a fun time, although everyone’s expressions grow serious the moment they get a good look at Lu, and nobody asks questions when Carla says that they want to leave.

It’s completely quiet on the way back to the house, the only noises being the soft sounds of Rebe and Valerio comforting Lu in the farthest row of seats. Carla sits by herself in the middle, staring out the window and getting so lost in her thoughts surrounding her parents and what just happened with Lu’s and _Samuel_ that she doesn’t even realize they’ve already made it home until Nadia is suddenly throwing the car in park. 

The house is dimly lit when she walks inside. Lu, Rebe, and Valerio are nowhere to be seen; they were the first ones in and probably went straight upstairs, but Carla follows Marina and Nadia as they walk over to the living room and join everyone else where they’re spread about on the large sectional couch. Maya and Yas are already asleep, but the boys, for some reason, are still watching the Barbie movie they’d put on for them. It’s so achingly domestic that she almost turns right around and goes up to her own room, but Samuel looks up and spots her before she can. He smiles at her. She caves and approaches him.

“You’re home early,” he remarks in a hushed whisper as she lowers herself beside him.

Carla doesn’t answer. She feels weird, like she simultaneously wants him to comfort her while also wanting to run as far away from him as she can get at the same time. The former wins over though, and she tucks herself into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Samuel freezes in surprise for the barest of moments before she feels him lift his arm and curve it around her.

He doesn’t say anything else, probably guessing that she doesn’t want to talk right now. She sort of hates how well he can read her.

He presses a soft kiss to the crown of her head, and she hates even more how _good_ this feels.

*

The next afternoon, she’s lounging on the bed and thinking again when there’s a soft knock on the door. Samuel left for his bachelor party outing with the guys a minute ago, but she figures he’s just forgotten something; he hasn’t yet shirked the habit of knocking even though this is also supposed to be his room. 

However, it’s Lu who comes in when Carla says the door’s open. She immediately sits up, sharing the brunette’s gentle smile as she perches on the edge of the bed at Carla’s feet. Lu hadn’t been at breakfast, and when Carla asked about her, Rebe and Valerio said that she just wanted a little time to herself, so she hadn’t gone up to check on her. But she’s glad to see her now; the girl looks tired, eyes still a little puffy from crying, but she also seems a bit lighter than yesterday. Carla reaches over and squeezes her knee.

“Hi, how are you doing?”

Lu inhales a deep breath, but her smile doesn’t leave her face, however small it is. “I’m feeling a little better. I’m not going to get over it just like that, but… it helps having everyone here. Thank you again for last night.”

“You don’t have to thank me. You don’t have to get over it, either. It’s alright to be hurt.”

“Well, I’m still getting used to being vulnerable.”

Carla laughs quietly. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Anyway, I just came to ask if you had any plans today? We all wanted to go dress shopping for Saturday. Throwing myself into a project is usually the easiest way of taking my mind off things, but if you’re busy…”

She definitely knows what Lu means by throwing herself into work, too. She shakes her head. “No, I’m not doing anything. I guess I do need a wedding dress, right? Although, I have no idea where we’d find one here.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Lu replies, leaning in conspiratorially. “I have superpowers.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Carla says, and to her relief, the other girl’s resulting grin has that same bright, dazzling quality to it that Carla’s grown so used to seeing. Even if she’d meant what she said about Lu not having to get over her pain, Carla’s confident that she’s going to be okay.

They leave within the hour, this time with Amaya and Yasmin added to their group. The boutique they end up at doesn’t exactly cater to weddings, at least not to the _bride_ of one, but it still has a few other dresses that catch Carla’s eye—she’d definitely shop here on a normal day, for sure. The girls help her pick out a whole array of white dresses to try on before ushering her inside one of the changing rooms.

As she comes out wearing the first dress, a frankly hideous thing with a skirt that goes down to her ankles and a collar that clasps all the way up to her neck, everyone blinks at her. Carla stares back expectantly.

Marina’s the first one to break the silence. She taps her bottom lip, clearly trying not to smile. “It’s very… modest.”

“And, um, classy,” Nadia inputs, nodding her head.

Lu scowls. “She looks like a fucking mummy—sorry,” she says, giving Nadia an apologetic glance when the curly-haired girl pointedly looks at her daughter and niece. “How did this one even get in the pile, anyway?”

She comes over to Carla and helps her make adjustments in the mirror, but there’s honestly nothing to be done about how ugly the thing is.

Still, Rebe comments, “Seriously, is there anything you don’t look good in?”

“It’s crushing my boobs,” Carla points out. “This thing is like a straitjacket.”

“Well, if there’s anyone who can turn one of those into a fashion statement, it’s you, blondie,” Rebe chuckles.

Lu rolls her eyes. “Okay, next one. Before it causes irreversible damage.”

By the time she steps back out in a new dress, Amaya and Yasmin are buttoned up in a matching pair of princess-like gowns. However, while they look beautiful, Carla’s still not happy with her own. She changes in and out of dresses for what seems like forever. She’s starting to think that maybe none of them feel right because _this_ isn’t right, guiltily pretending to be the excited bride-to-be, when she looks at herself in the mirror and momentarily stops breathing, not because this latest dress is also like a straitjacket, but because it’s utterly gorgeous.

Carla quietly gapes at her reflection, smoothing her hands down the skirt. It’s a simple thing, really. White, with a faint print only visible up-close; made of soft, slinky satin. The straps are thin, the back cuts low, and there’s a long slit running up the side. She absolutely loves it.

It’s something she really would wear on her wedding day. Her _real_ wedding day, if she ever has one.

Because of that, she has to fight the urge to immediately tear it off of her body and leave. Seriously, what is she even doing? At this point, it feels less like she’s saving her own skin by being here in Tahoe and more like she’s playing out some fantasy that she can’t ever picture herself having. The dress is so right, which just makes all of this wrong. 

She starts at the sound of Lu’s voice. “Carla, are you ready?” 

“Yeah, just a sec,” she manages after clearing her throat. She stares at the dress one final time in the mirror, then pushes the curtain aside.

Her friends stare at her, stunned. 

“Holy shit,” Rebe says, and Nadia doesn’t even chastise her for swearing, because she’s too busy raising her eyebrows and voicing her agreement.

“Auntie Carla,” Amaya breathes in awe, “you’re _beautiful._ ”

Lu beams. “I think this is the one. Look, she’s crying.”

At that, Carla registers just how blurry her vision is with unshed tears and huffs an embarrassed laugh, hastily dabbing under her eyes with her fingertips. She isn’t sure what’s done it: the dress, or the guilt, or _Auntie Carla,_ but—

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know what’s… I’m being ridiculous.”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Marina is quick to warmly assure her. “We understand. And Maya’s right, you’re gorgeous.”

“Besides,” Lu says, walking over and turning Carla around so that they can look in the mirror together, “Samu’s going to be a hundred times worse when he sees you walking down the aisle in this.”

Carla lowers her gaze. “Yeah,” she mutters.

The brunette doesn’t notice her mood, instead grinning at her for a beat longer before stepping back so they can all look at the dress some more. Eventually, Lu goes off to find the saleswoman and Carla’s allowed to go change back into the clothes she came here in, which she does mostly on autopilot. 

She pays for the dress, refusing to let anyone try and offer to buy it as a gift because she’s positive that’ll be the final gesture before her conscience cracks like a dam. They do a few other errands around town and get back to the house just in time for dinner, where they decide to order a few pizzas and relax in the living room. It’s honestly just like a sleepover out of the movies, the kind Carla’s never had, with hair braiding and nail painting and bad girly movies that Rebe loudly makes fun of.

Still, she’s not nearly as loud as the guys are when they stumble through the door shortly after midnight. Samuel and Valerio are laughing so hard that they have tears in their eyes.

Nadia shushes them. “You’re going to wake up the girls,” she scolds. “Where’s Guzmán?”

“He passed out. Ander and your brother have got him,” Valerio replies just as the pair come dragging the blond boy in, clearly struggling beneath his dead weight.

“Nadia, he’s fucking heavy,” Ander complains. “What the hell do you feed him?”

She ignores that. “Bring him to our room, will you?” 

Carla chuckles quietly as she watches Nadia follow Omar and Ander up the stairs, before her eyes land on Samuel. As soon as he sees her, he grins at Valerio.

“There she is,” he says, heedless of the glares Lu, Marina, and Rebe shoot him because of how loud he’s being. “My fiancée. _That’s_ my fiancée.”

Valerio’s head bobs in a sloppy nod, curls flying everywhere. “Yes, yes.”

Carla’s pretty sure he isn’t even listening to him, which is fine, since Samuel doesn’t seem to be doing the same, either. He walks over to where she’s sitting with an amused smile on her face, and continues, “Can you believe it? But wait, seriously, do you believe it? Because, Carla, tell them. We’re n—”

Her eyes widen. She stands up, grabbing Samuel by the arm before he can finish his sentence and completely blow their cover, and glances over her shoulder at the girls. They don’t seem to notice anything out of the blue; Marina’s in the process of picking up a sleeping Amaya, Rebe’s already holding Yasmin, and Lu is exasperatedly batting Valerio away from her as he tries to engulf her in a hug. Rebe catches her eye and waves her off. 

“Okay, let’s get you to bed,” Carla tells Samuel, steering him upstairs. He tries to protest, at least verbally, but he’s thankfully easy to shuffle to their room. She clicks the door shut behind them and places a finger against his mouth to quiet his giggling. “Samuel, you didn’t tell the guys anything about, you know... _us_ , did you?”

A grin spreads beneath her finger. “You mean, how we aren’t really—?”

“Hush,” she cuts him off quickly. “ _Yes._ ”

“Nope,” he says. She casts him a doubtful look; he _is_ drunk off his ass, after all. “C’mon. I thought you said you trusted me.”

“I do.” 

That makes him beam like a kid. “I didn’t tell them that there’s nothing between us,” he slurs, leaning in a little. “You don’t have to worry.”

Carla’s heart flips as she stares at his lips for a single second before taking a step back. She doesn’t look at Samuel as he stumbles past her, but after a moment, she turns and finds him sprawled on top of the bed. 

“Samuel,” she sighs. “You need to get changed for bed.”

He kicks off his shoes, but otherwise doesn’t do anything else besides shake his head. “M’not tired.”

“Then why are your eyes closed?” She asks as she walks over, amused despite herself. 

“The view is very nice.” 

“The view of the inside of your eyelids?”

“Exactly.” 

She scoffs. Samuel grins and cracks his eyes back open, propping himself up on his elbows. His smile slowly fades as he quietly stares at her. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs out of nowhere.

Carla sucks in a tiny breath. Her shoulders stiffen.

Samuel, in spite of his intoxication, notices. He sits up and grabs her hand. “You are, Carla. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

She swallows thickly. “Samuel…”

“And smart, and strong. So, so strong.”

A small smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. Against every single instinct in her body telling her to flee, she stays right where she is and raises her free hand to comb his hair back from his forehead. 

“You’re amazing,” he breathes, eyelashes fluttering beneath her touch. “And I’m so lucky.”

Carla pauses, belying how her heart abruptly stutters and starts beating twice as fast. She searches his eyes. His _glassy_ eyes, because he’s drunk. _He’s just drunk._

She draws her hand back. “You need to sleep, Samuel.”

He stares at her, a whirl of emotion flickering in his gaze that she refuses to let herself read into, before he looks down and licks his lips. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, nodding. Suddenly, he sounds way more sober than he had just a second ago. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just gonna...”

He gestures toward the bathroom, and Carla steps aside to let him pass. It’s not until she hears the sound of the sink running that she gets into bed, turning onto her side so that she’s facing the wall. Samuel doesn’t say a word to her as he slips under the covers a couple minutes later. 

_He’s drunk,_ Carla reminds herself. 

But she also can’t stop wondering, _was he lying when he said the almost-kiss didn’t mean anything?_

It takes her a long time to fall asleep. 


	7. in sickness and in health

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the longest chapter yet, and it also includes smut. hope it was worth the wait :) (and thank you all for all the kind messages you’ve been sending me about this fic and my writing in general, it really means a lot. and inspires me to keep going at it <3)

As he waits for the call to connect, Samuel feels a sort of apprehensiveness twisting in his gut. Will she be upset with him? Angry? Disappointed? He doesn’t know. They’ve texted a bit since Wednesday, but neither of them have ever been big texters, and it’s also difficult to get a feel for someone’s mood through them. 

In short, he’s fucking nervous. He starts smoothing his hair and adjusting his shirt as his phone’s video call function rings and rings and _rings._

But then that finally stops, the screen lights up with her beaming face—not angry or disappointed, but _excited_ —and Samuel instantly feels himself relax. His lips spread in a wide smile of his own, and he waves.

“Hi, mom.”

“Samu, honey, you look great! How are things?”

“They’re okay,” he says lightly. And before she can dig for more like he knows she will, “But how have you been?”

He’s well-aware he’s putting off the inevitable—that being, an interrogation—but he’s also genuinely curious, and okay, feeling incredibly guilty. It’s been a few months since they’ve video chatted like this, and almost as long since he’s actually heard her voice. He hadn’t been lying to Ms. Romero when he said that work and the six hour time difference between New York City and Madrid made it really hard to keep in touch. 

He doesn’t think he’s imagining the new lines around her eyes and mouth. His mom had him and Nano when she was incredibly young, so he’s always been used to seeing her look as such, often having to correct people whenever they assumed she was his older sister. Right now, however, she just looks tired, and all the time they’ve missed with one another is suddenly hitting Samuel at once. 

“Oh, same as always. Work, tarot readings here and there, visiting your brother. He misses you. _I_ miss you.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he replies, genuine. “Things are alright, though? You’ve been okay with money?”

“Samu, I have a steady job, and you already send me enough every month. I’m fine. And _you’re_ avoiding the subject.” 

At the pointed look she’s giving him, he grimaces and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah… look, mom—”

“When were you planning on telling me you were seeing someone? If at all, since you’re apparently getting married to her.”

She’s staring at him sternly, but now he really can detect her hurt, and that just makes him deflate. “I’m really sorry you had to find out the way you did.”

His mom scoffs humorlessly. “You can imagine my surprise when I received a call from _Marina_ saying that you were engaged. I immediately assumed it was to her, that you two had gotten back together.”

“No, no. Definitely not.” That ship had sailed a long time ago.

“Which is exactly what she told me, right before she said you were marrying your boss. Samuel, why didn’t you ever mention that you were with her?”

“It all happened so fast, mom. _Really,_ ” he stresses at her disbelieving expression. It is the truth, after all; it happened within the span of ten minutes in Martín’s office. But now he has to lie. On top of his pre-existing guilt, now he just feels like the world’s biggest asshole. “We kept our relationship a secret because it was… inappropriate, you know? Her being my superior and all. We’ve been together for six months now.”

Her eyebrows draw together. “Isn’t six months a little fast, son?”

“You sound like Guzmán,” Samuel huffs.

“No, I sound like your mother.”

“Exactly.” 

She smiles a little, then says, “Honey, he’s just looking out for you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Samuel retorts. “Guzmán and I have barely spoken all week. And when we do, he’s just full of judgment. He’s completely rude to Carla. He acts like she’s not even here most of the time, when he’s not glaring a hole in the side of her head.”

“You know your brother would be the same way if he was with you too, probably. He’s always been protective. He and Guzmán are a lot alike; ironic, since they’ve never gotten along.”

“Well, I’ve never liked how Nano has a habit of sticking his nose into my business either,” Samuel snaps a bit too harshly. He catches himself immediately, lowering his eyes in shame. After a second, he murmurs, “Sorry, mom. I’m sorry. This isn’t how I wanted our call to go.”

A soft, forgiving smile curls on her lips. “It’s okay,” she says. “Hey, how about you put Carla on? I’d like to meet the girl marrying my son before the actual ceremony tomorrow.”

“Oh, uh...” He winces in apology. “She’s actually in the shower right now.”

He isn’t lying, although the thought of his mom talking to the girl she thinks he’s been in a serious relationship with makes him feel like shit. 

She playfully rolls her eyes. “Ah, of course. You can’t keep her hidden forever, you know.”

“I promise, it’s not like that,” he laughs. “She just got in right before I called you.”

“Well, fine. You’re just going to have to tell me about her, then,” his mom replies. “And I mean the type of woman she is. I already know what she looks like.”

He gives her a look. “How’s that?”

“It turns out that Google is _very_ helpful for when you suddenly find out that your son is engaged to some mystery girl,” she says pointedly. Samuel chuckles. “She’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah, she is. I really don’t know why she’d ever choose me,” he mutters, almost to himself. It’s partially why he’s been mentally beating himself up since the things he said to Carla last night, because did he not learn after the whole almost-kissing-her thing? This morning was less awkward, at least. 

“You’re handsome, sweet, and incredibly loyal, Samu. Based on the articles I’ve read about her, Carla seems smart. So of course she would,” his mom replies earnestly, clearly not understanding what he really means. Not that he can blame her.

He smiles. “Thanks. You’re kinda obligated to say these things, though.”

“It’s a good thing they’re true then, huh?” She grins. “But seriously, tell me about your fiancée.”

“Well, she’s smart, like you said.” His mom nods and gestures for him to keep going, so he does, slowly. “She’s also really funny, kind of unexpectedly, but that’s because so many people misunderstand her. I think I did a little too, at first. I mean, I didn’t think she was heartless like everyone else does, but the things I’ve learned about her surprised me. They still do, because I’m still learning new ones.”

Samuel smiles to himself, continuing, “And she’s _not_ heartless. She’s actually so caring, and it pisses me off that I’m the only one who sees that, but also… it makes me feel special,” he tells her. “At first, Carla seems distant, but she just hides herself as a sort of defense mechanism against the world. She’s been through a lot, mom. She’s so fucking resilient. I wish I was half as strong as she is, honestly. I’ve never met anyone like her. 

“We come from completely different worlds. On paper, we don’t have anything in common, but we get each other. Things just… I don’t know, they make sense with her. People paint her as some sort of unsolvable puzzle, but _she_ makes sense to me,” he finishes quietly, not even concentrating on his mom’s face anymore but on some unfocused point before him. 

He pulls himself out of his reverie quickly though, clearing his throat in embarrassment and feeling heat crawl up his neck. His mom just looks at him softly, which only makes it worse, for some reason.

Though nothing compares to what she says next. “I think hearing you say that wiped away all of my doubts surrounding this whole thing. I know what my son looks like when he’s seriously in love.”

Samuel actually chokes. He’s also pretty sure his eyes bulge out of his head. “‘ _Love’?_ ” He asks dubiously, and it’s only when his mom sends him an odd look that he realizes _yes,_ people who are engaged _are_ in love, that’s typically how these things work, but his heart is racing a mile a minute and he’s not one-hundred percent sure why as he recovers with a nervous chuckle, “I-I mean, yeah. Yeah, of course.”

His mom smiles at him warmly. She usually has an uncanny grasp on people’s emotions and true character—something she’s always claimed was spiritual, though he knows is probably just intuition—but… has he gotten so good at deceiving people in such a short amount of time that he has his _mother_ believing that he’s in love with Carla? Because honestly, part of the reason why he’d been avoiding talking to her about this entire thing was that he was pretty positive she’d see through him in an instant. 

“I’m just happy that you’re happy,” she tells him. “Guzmán will eventually see it too, don’t you worry.”

He swallows down the funny feeling in his throat. “Thanks, mom,” he manages.

They continue to talk for a short while longer, thankfully about other topics. It’s not until his mom mentions that she just got off of work that his eyes flick up to the time at the top of his phone. It’s pushing eleven p.m. in Madrid, and she must be exhausted. She tries to argue that she’s fine, but Samuel assures her that they’ll be able to talk some more tomorrow; she eventually agrees to hang up and get some sleep. 

Samuel’s still sitting against the headboard, staring at the wall with the words _I know what my son looks like when he’s seriously in love_ echoing around in his mind when Carla comes out of the bathroom. He instantly shoves his thoughts aside, and then blinks at her in the same awe he hasn’t been able to shake since the first night he saw her fresh out of the shower—only this time it’s even more stunning, because he recognizes the light gray shirt she’s wearing.

It’s a little big on her, the collar slipping down her shoulder and the hem almost covering her shorts entirely, but yes. That’s definitely _his_ t-shirt.

Carla licks her lips, catching him staring. “Sorry. I dropped my shirt out here and didn’t realize until I was getting dressed. You left this in there, so I thought…” She trails off, and he’s still too stuck to say anything, so she bends down and picks up her own shirt from the floor. “I’ll go change.”

He swallows down this sudden possessive sensation flaring inside of him at the sight of her wearing his clothing. She’s not an object, and she’s definitely not his. But still, the urge to claim her is almost overwhelming. He shakes his head to both clear it and assure her at once. 

“No, leave it,” he says. “It looks good on you.”

Samuel swears he can see her cheeks flush a bit, but she turns away to discard her dirty clothes in the laundry bin before he can be too sure. 

“How’d your talk with your mom go?”

He deliberately leaves out everything he told his mom about her, and even though he’s sure Carla would appreciate how he’s fooled her into thinking that their relationship is real, he doesn’t bring that up either. “It was good. She wanted to meet you.”

Carla sits beside him on the bed. She smells nice, different than the perfume he’s used to her wearing, but like coconut and vanilla. Her shampoo. He’d seen the bottles in the shower. 

She fiddles with her hands in her lap. “Is it weird that I’m nervous to?”

“No. I was nervous to call her.”

“I used to be really good at charming adults. I could do it without even trying. Me, seven or twelve or sixteen, chatting up the people at my parents’ parties,” she murmurs after a moment. “But for some reason, your mother makes me anxious.”

“She already likes you.” He huffs in amusement. “She told me that she Googled you when she found out about this engagement.”

Carla laughs, quiet and dry. “What did she find, tabloid articles about how I’m a young, rich heiress who, for some reason, is still single?”

“She did find articles, but nah, she said that all she learned from them is that you’re smart,” he replies before lightly bumping her shoulder with his own. “And technically, you’re not single anymore.”

“Yeah,” she scoffs. He watches as her smile slowly fades. “You know, my parents haven’t tried to reach out to me once, and I’m sure Begoña told them the minute we left that office.”

Without thinking, he tucks a wet strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you want them to?”

Carla doesn’t stiffen or pull away from him like she did last night. Instead, she lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Honestly? I have no idea. I want to say no; I haven’t wanted to talk to them at all before, so why would that change now? And obviously, my dad might already suspect that this is a lie, but my mom… I don’t know. I’m their only daughter, and to their knowledge, I’m getting married. I guess I’m just disappointed—which, really, I wasn’t aware they were still capable of doing that to me. Or maybe a small part of me is still craving their love, proof that they fucking care. It makes me feel stupid. And _that_ just makes me feel like a hypocrite, because I told Lu that it was okay for her to want that from her parents, too.”

Samuel draws her into his chest, wrapping his arm around her in a hug. “You’re not a hypocrite, Carla. Everyone struggles with accepting their own advice. It’s human.” 

She doesn’t reply, but she also doesn’t move. Her ear is pressed to his chest and her hair is starting to dampen his shirt, although he doesn’t mind in the slightest. He’s never been so comfortable, and as the seconds bleed into minutes, he stops fighting the urge to play with the long tendrils of hair curling over her shoulder and completely gives into it.

Eventually, she tips her chin up so she can look at him. “How’s your hangover?”

It’s the first time she’s referenced anything from last night, even it’s not about the stupid—albeit, true—shit he said to her that clearly made her freak out. 

“Better now. I took some aspirin after breakfast, so my head doesn’t hurt anymore, but I’m probably going to give my liver a break at the dinner tonight. I don’t know how Valerio does it.”

“I can’t believe Lu is throwing us an engagement dinner,” Carla says. He’s gotten used to detecting the guilt in her voice by now. “Or any of this, honestly.”

He smiles at her reassuringly. “Well, it’ll all be over by tomorrow. We fly back to New York Sunday afternoon, so we won’t have to put up as much of an act anymore.”

She doesn’t seem as relieved by this as he thought she’d be, chewing her bottom lip in thought for a moment. “Samuel?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think getting into this was a mistake?” Her voice is impossibly quiet.

“What? No, I don’t,” he answers immediately, brows creasing. “Is this about the lying thing? Because I told you—”

“No, it’s not. Not entirely,” she cuts him off. Then she finally pulls back and sits up, offering him a smile that he sees right through. “Never mind, forget I asked.”

He frowns some more. “Carla…”

“Seriously, it’s nothing. I’m going to start getting ready for tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” he says after some hesitation, and at his nod, Carla grabs her makeup bag and disappears back into the bathroom.

*

Samuel leaves the room to give Carla the space he’s sure she wants after that, but also to clear his own head a little, because there are a thousand and one thoughts swirling around in it at the moment. 

What else could Carla have meant? Does _she_ think getting into this was a mistake? She can’t still be acting weird because of what he said last night, because she’d been fine all morning, so what is it?

He needs to talk to someone. The thing is, he _can’t,_ because he and Carla are supposed to be the happy couple who are going to get married in twenty-four hours, when in reality, they are not actually a fucking couple. God, his headache is bound to come back, at this rate. He still decides to find some company anyway, figuring the distraction might help, but the other girls are probably getting ready as well, he and Guzmán are barely on speaking terms, and Valerio is… well, he’s Valerio, so Samuel ends up in Omar and Ander’s room on the other side of the second floor.

The distraction doesn’t actually help, though—in his defense, Omar and Ander aren’t the most talkative people on the planet—and he spends several minutes sprawled across their bed staring at the ceiling when Omar suddenly nudges his foot.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Samuel replies automatically. “I’m just bored.” 

“Then go entertain yourself with your hot girlfriend and stop hogging my mattress.” Samuel doesn’t say anything, and Omar raises his eyebrows before ushering him aside so that he can sit down. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Spill. What’s up with you and Carla?”

“It’s nothing. We’re fine.”

“You can’t lie to me, dude. We’ve been best friends since we were twelve.”

He _can_ lie to him and has been doing it this whole week, but.

Samuel sighs. “It’s… I don’t know.” He notices the unimpressed look Omar’s giving him and stresses, “Seriously, I don’t know. I can’t really explain it.”

It’s the truth, and Omar seems to believe him, because he softens. “Well, you can try. Ander and I are good listeners.”

The brown-haired boy steps out of the bathroom, hair still damp and buttoning up his shirt. He smiles a little. “At least, when it doesn’t concern our own problems.”

Omar sucks his teeth. “Ignore him. He’s full of bullshit.”

“See?” Ander says pointedly, plopping down in a chair across from them.

Samuel laughs, before he grows serious beneath their expectant gazes. He thinks it over. How is he supposed to go about this without completely fucking everything up? More than he already has, that is.

“Well… she’s acting a little weird. I thought I said something that sort of scared her, I guess, but I don’t think that was it. This seems random.”

“Did something from work come up? She could be stressed out, dealing with that on top of the wedding,” Omar suggests.

“No, it’s not work,” he answers with certainty. Definitely not, since she’s not even with the company right now. 

“It could just be a girl thing?” Ander says. “Maybe she’s just having a bad day, man.”

Samuel shakes his head. “She was okay earlier.” 

In his peripheral, he notices Omar and Ander silently communicating. He feels bad; they’re trying to help, but he’s not exactly giving them much to work with and they clearly don’t know what to do. Samuel bites his lip, realizing that there’s no way he’s going to get anywhere unless he offers them some of the truth, or at least a version of it.

“I think she might be having second thoughts.”

Ander blinks in surprise. “What? Did she tell you that?” 

“Not really,” he replies. “She asked me if I thought we were making a mistake. Obviously, I told her no, but that’s when she started acting weird.”

Omar bumps his arm. “Define ‘weird’.”

“She just smiled and told me to forget about it. But I can tell that there’s something wrong.” Samuel scrubs a hand through his hair. “We did jump into this a little fast, it was really spontaneous. So maybe she’s beginning to regret it?”

“What if she thought you were the one having regrets, and was trying to check that you weren’t? I mean, Carla doesn’t seem like the self-conscious type, but I also don’t know her as well as you do,” Omar says.

His boyfriend nods in agreement. “What did you say to her after? Word for word.”

“I just said, ‘no, I don’t’.” They both laugh at him, and he frowns. “What, do you think I wasn’t convincing enough?”

“Come on, man, that was it? Ander’s not exactly one for words, but even _he_ knows you have to say more than that.”

Could it really be that Carla was making sure he was completely in this and she hadn’t believed him when he said he was? Because he was being honest. He doesn’t regret this, not one bit. He probably should; he certainly has a lot to lose here, risking his own freedom and a hell of a lot of money that he definitely doesn’t have, not even with what he’s saved up since he began working at C.P.C. Maybe _that’s_ what Carla had been doing? Giving him one last chance to back out.

Samuel knows that she feels guilty, but he should’ve done more to assure her that she shouldn’t feel that way about him. He’s a grown man, capable of making his own decisions, and he knows what he’s gotten himself into. If he wasn’t totally on-board, he wouldn’t have agreed to this whole thing in the first place. 

He should’ve told her that. He should’ve told her the _truth_ : that he’d do just about anything for her, and not because it’s been the basic principle of his job for the last five years, but because…

Fuck. Because his mom had been right.

Because—

“I’m in love with her,” he blurts out, and the revelation wholeheartedly bewilders him and makes everything abundantly _clear_ at the same time. His mom hadn’t seen through him because there had been nothing to see through. _He loves Carla._

“Obviously,” Omar scoffs. “We can all see it, and she does too, she’s probably just anxious about the wedding tomorrow. That usually makes all rational thinking go out the window.”

“And if you’re still worried she’s the one who’s having doubts, don’t,” Ander says. “It’s clear that she’s crazy about you.”

Samuel blinks, still reeling from his first revelation. “Really?”

Omar nods in agreement with his boyfriend. “Look, I’m going to be honest with you,” he tells Samuel. “When you showed up here engaged all of a sudden and to a woman who looks like a Victoria’s Secret model, at that, I thought you were shitting us. It all just seemed a little too good to be true, but I wasn’t going to say anything. I figured you’d come clean.”

This is normally the part where Samuel would sarcastically say _wow, thanks,_ but Omar’s closer to the truth than he realizes.

“I was wrong, though,” he continues. “I’ve never seen you look at another girl like you look at her, you didn’t even look at Marina like that when you were together. And, like Ander said, she’s gone for you. You guys just gotta talk.”

Samuel tries to absorb this information. He doesn’t doubt that Carla probably has feelings for him anymore—a _lot_ of things are making sense in hindsight now—but are they as strong as the ones he has for her? Is she in love with him too?

Omar’s right. He and Carla need to talk. He’s done running away every time things get awkward between them.

“Yeah.” Samuel nods his head, the movement made jerky by the sheer adrenaline coursing through his body. He stands. “Okay, yeah. I’m going to go do that right now.”

Ander and Omar stand too, the former clapping him on the shoulder. “Everything’s gonna be fine, and this time tomorrow, she’s going to be your wife.”

Samuel pulls them both into a grateful hug, before striding out the door.

Still, he doesn’t go straight to his and Carla’s room from there, but out on a run. He’s not _running away,_ literally or figuratively—he’s finished with that, he meant it—he just needs to figure out how he’s going to approach this entire thing before he clams up and makes an idiot out of himself in front of her.

Unfortunately, the longer he thinks about it, the louder the tiny voice in the back of his mind that’s saying _they’re wrong, she doesn’t like you like that at_ _all_ gets. He knows it’s just his own anxieties speaking, but after nearly an hour and a half, they’re starting to get to him. He decides to stop trying to strategize the best way to tell Carla that he’s in love with her and pretty sure he has been for a long time now. Spontaneity and a lack of thinking things through is what got them here in the first place, so why not just stick to the theme?

He’s definitely in need of another shower when he gets back to the house. His hair is sticking to his forehead and his shirt is clinging to his back with sweat, but whatever, that can wait. He jogs up the stairs, although all the exercise he’s just gotten isn’t why his pulse races faster and faster the closer he gets to his and Carla’s room. By the time he reaches the doorway, he feels like his heart has moved from his rib cage and is now lodged in his throat. He thought he was nervous this morning when he was calling his mom, but that doesn’t compare at all to this moment.

And then everything instantly quiets and calms down as he takes in the sight before him. Carla is standing at the foot of the bed, where Amaya and Yasmin are perched on the mattress and zipping up her dress for her. That aside, she looks _breathtaking._ Her hair falls down her back in soft, cascading waves, and the dress is a shimmery, off-the-shoulder garment the color of a dark, starry sky. It stops right above her knee, where her legs seem to travel on forever. Samuel just stands there and stares, at a complete loss for words. 

Then his nieces finish up securing her dress and she turns, pausing as she finally notices his presence. Their eyes meet. Carla looks surprised for a moment, before her expression softens and a little smile curls on her lips.

It’s just nailed further into him, in this moment: the fact that he’s in _love_ with her.

All Samuel can do is blink, and then he’s torn out of his stupor altogether when Yasmin and Amaya spot him too, rushing over. 

He leans down to hug them hello, but Yasmin pulls away quickly, her face screwed up in disgust. “Ew, why are you all sweaty?”

He prepares to answer, although he’s saved when a knowing Omar sticks his head into the room. “Girls, c’mon. You need to get dressed.”

Samuel offers him a thankful look as he rises back up again, and Omar nods once as he ushers his daughter and niece out of the room. Once they’re gone, he licks his lips and slowly faces Carla again. She’s moved over to the dresser, where she’s hooking an earring into her ear, and as Samuel approaches her, she looks him over in amusement.

“You _are_ sweaty. Were you exercising or something?”

“I went on a run,” he answers distantly, getting distracted by her appearance again.

Carla arches an eyebrow. “In jeans?”

“Huh?” She gestures at him, and he blinks before glancing down at his legs. “Oh, yeah, it was a last-minute sort of thing.”

She casts him an odd look. “Is everything alright with you?”

“Everything’s great, it’s just…” He licks his lips, bringing his eyes up to hers. “You look really beautiful.”

She suddenly appears… guarded, is the only way he can describe it. He doesn’t know why. “I seem to remember you saying the same last night.”

 _Last night._ Had she really been freaking out about that, after all?

Like he said, though, he’s not backing down from this anymore. “And I meant it then just as much as I do now. You’re stunning.”

That defensiveness instantly vanishes, replaced by something that flickers in her gaze, something he weirdly thinks might be relief. She smiles softly at him. “Thank you.”

Samuel returns her smile, but neither of them say anything as they hold each other’s gaze. Suddenly, he feels his heartbeat pick up again. The time to tell her is now. _We need to talk._

The surface of his palms break out into a sweat, and he nervously licks his lips. 

“Carla, I…” 

She raises her eyebrows in expectation when he trails off. “What is it?”

He stares into those big green eyes of hers. _Say it, dumbass,_ that little voice in his taunts. _Or are you finally realizing that everyone is delusional about Carla feeling the same way about you, including yourself?_

His tongue feels dry and useless, but Carla seems to be growing more and more concerned with each second, so Samuel opens his mouth—

And completely chickens out.

“It’s… it’s nothing,” he says with a dismissive laugh, reaching out to touch the sleeve of her dress. “I was just wondering, did you buy this when you went out yesterday?”

Carla looks at him thoughtfully for a beat longer, before shaking her head. “No, I brought this from New York.”

“You packed a designer dress with you, but not a pair of sneakers,” he notes, voice flat.

“Says the guy who just went on a run in jeans,” Carla teases back. Samuel snorts, and she smiles. “Speaking of, you should probably go freshen up. We need to be at the restaurant by seven.”

“Right. I’ll meet you downstairs?”

She gives him a nod, and Samuel curses himself as soon as she’s gone. He just let a perfect opportunity to bring everything up between them fall right through his fingers, but he quickly reminds himself that this doesn’t mean he’s missed his chance altogether. He can talk to her later. 

When they get back from the dinner, definitely.

*

You’d think Samuel would stop being surprised by the types of minor miracles Lu is capable of performing after being her friend for almost an entire decade, but no.

He’s speechless when they get to the restaurant, clearly high-end and the sort of place where you have to book your reservation months in advance, and he’s completely floored when Lu tells him and Carla that she rented out the entire patio for them tonight. Accepting his friends using their wealth on him is still something he struggles with, but right now… he’s mostly just touched. He wraps Lu in a thankful hug that she pretends to only tolerate, but he catches the pleased smile on her face right before she turns away from him.

Dinner is a five-course meal that starts with a scallop appetizer and ends with poached pears for dessert, delicious and decadent and banked on all sides by conversation and laughter. No speeches are made, but Omar brings up old stories from their childhood in an effort to embarrass him in front of Carla, and Samuel gives back as good as he gets until the entire table has just turned into a roast. It’s light-hearted, though; they’re all having a good time, joking and reminiscing, including Carla in the life they had together before she entered it. Even Guzmán seems less sour than he has been the whole week; Samuel catches him cracking a smile here and there. 

He thinks the atmosphere and ambiance of the patio is certainly playing a part in everyone’s lively mood. It’s a gorgeous space, sectioned off by low, ivy-lined walls and filled with wrought iron decor. With the flower arrangements and sculpted fountain near the back, it almost seems like they’re in some sort of villa garden, if gardens usually included a live band, an open bar, and room for dancing. 

Although, what Samuel thinks is the real kicker are the fairy lights, wrapped around the thick branches of the trees dotted about and strung between them overhead. They cast a nice, warm glow over the area, and Carla looks absolutely radiant beneath them from where he’s sitting by himself at a small table on the edge of the party. The light twinkles off of the shimmer in her dress, matching the same spark in her eye as she and Valerio sway together on the dance floor. Her face is lit up in a delighted grin as she murmurs something to him, and she laughs against his shoulder at whatever he says in response. 

Samuel hones in on the sound, lets it slip down his spine like warmed whiskey, even with the distance separating them and all the background noise that should prevent him from hearing it. But it’s almost like only she exists to him right now. In this moment, Carla looks nothing like his boss, and _everything_ like the woman he fell in love with. 

A soft hand falls onto his shoulder, tethering him back to reality. He looks up to find Marina smiling back at him. “Can I sit?”

He nods his head, gesturing for her to take the seat next to him. She settles in, crossing her legs at the knee and following his gaze back to where it’s wandered off to.

“Seems like Valerio’s encroaching on your territory,” she jokes.

Samuel laughs through his nose. “Nah, I’m not worried about him. He’s not her type.”

“I think he’d argue that he’s everyone’s type,” Marina chuckles. She sobers after a second. “Carla’s a great girl. You seem really happy.”

He gives her a small, genuine smile. “She is,” he replies. “And I am.”

Samuel watches as she swallows and guiltily glances away. It’s quiet between them for a moment. Then, “I’m sorry, Samu. For what happened between us.”

“Marina…”

“No, really, I am. I’m sorry.”

“It happened eight years ago. You know I’ve forgiven you. The both of you,” he says, honest. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

She stares at her hands where they’re resting in her lap. “Because you _weren’t_ happy when you left Madrid.”

Samuel sighs, unable to contest that. She’s right, after all.

“And that’s my fault. He and I are the reason why you went away,” Marina continues. “But what I’m trying to say is, while I’m sorry, while I wish I could take it back, I’m glad that you found Carla. Because even before our issues began, the two of us were never like you and her. You love her.”

“I loved you,” Samuel points out.

She smiles. “I know. But it wasn’t the same as the way you love her.”

He looks at her for a moment, then blows out a breath. “No.”

“We were young. Naive. Stupid, although some of us more than others,” Marina says, a knowing smirk crossing her lips. “We’ve both grown, though, haven’t we? I’m just happy that you can continue to do it with her. And I’m also happy that she’s found you, too. When we first met, there was something sad in her, I could see it. It’s not as noticeable when she’s around you, though. You’re good for her, Samu. She deserves you. I didn’t.”

For some reason, he opens his mouth with the urge to deny that, to defend her. Marina just laughs him off, insisting, “ _I didn’t,_ and that’s okay. We weren’t meant for each other.”

A few beats go by where he stares at the table. “It was hard for me to realize that, at first.”

“But you do now?”

“Yeah. I told you, I forgave you a long time ago, Marina.” He smiles in reassurance, standing up and placing a chaste kiss on the top of her head. “I want you to be happy, too.”

With that, Samuel walks away. He _had_ forgiven Marina, but he didn’t know he still required that final piece of closure from her. Now that he thinks about it, though, maybe it’s exactly what he needed to hear to be able to talk to Carla, because he feels lighter than he has in nearly ten years as he approaches her and Valerio on the dance floor and taps the latter on the shoulder with a smile. 

“Mind if I cut in?” 

“I don’t, but I’m sure she will once she sees your dancing skills,” Valerio teases.

Carla snorts, playfully pushing him away from her. The curly-haired boy moves on with a grin and a wave, and she smiles softly at Samuel as he places his hands on her waist. 

“Hi,” he says, knowing that he’s beaming like an idiot.

“Hey, yourself.” She drapes her arms over his shoulders, and they begin swaying. “I saw you and Marina talking.”

He nods. “She was just apologizing to me.”

Carla knits her eyebrows together. “For what?”

“For the reason why I moved to New York,” Samuel answers simply. He offers her a tiny, apologetic smile. “I didn’t tell you the complete truth about our break up. I wasn’t lying when I said we weren’t meant to be together, but the real reason, the main reason, is that she cheated on me with my brother.”

Carla doesn’t immediately say anything, blinking up at him in surprise as they wordlessly dance to the music. Honestly, Samuel never planned to tell her any of this; not because it was still an open wound, but because he’s genuinely gotten over it.

“After I found out, I just needed to get away from Madrid, so I came here. And I was so desperate for money, I started applying everywhere. Worked odd-jobs for a few years. I was honestly shocked when a random publishing company I submitted my résumé to called me back though, especially since I wasn’t qualified at all.” She finally huffs a soft sound, the edge of her lips quirking. He grins back at her before thoughtfully glancing around, letting out a slow sigh. “In some ways, I’m thankful Marina cheated. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met you.”

Carla’s expression softens, and she searches his eyes for a moment before resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re sweet,” she murmurs.

“I mean it,” he replies. 

A minute or so passes as they comfortably sway together, then out of nowhere, he hears Carla ask, “Did you ever imagine yourself getting married?”

Samuel shrugs. “Sure, I guess I did picture it when I was with Marina, but not in a serious way. She was my first girlfriend, and I knew way less about love back then than I do now. I haven’t really dated anyone since,” he answers. “What about you?”

“I used to fantasize about my wedding like almost every little girl, growing up. The dress, the cake, the venue… the husband.” She pauses for a moment. “I would daydream about what he would look like all the time, how much he would love me, how happy we’d be, raising a family later on... I was a real hopeless romantic. That changed as I started getting older. By seventeen… well, you know the story, marriage was the last thing on my mind. And now, I can’t even picture myself as the woman from my old fantasies; having a normal, happy life like that. I mean, me as a mother? Even just hearing it sounds ridiculous.”

Samuel frowns. “Carla, you’d be a great mom.”

She snorts derisively. “Please.”

“I’m serious,” he replies, pulling back to look at her. “You’re amazing with Yas and Maya. I love seeing you with them, I could honestly just watch you forever.”

A blush spreads across her cheeks, only faintly visible beneath the warmth of the fairy lights. Still, she argues, “That’s different.”

“No, it’s not. You care about the people you love, you’d do anything for them. At the end of it all, that’s what matters the most in a parent.” He cups her cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb over her skin. “Believe me, you’re going to be a great mother someday.”

Carla stares at him for a moment, lips parted like she wants to speak but can’t find the words, before she blinks away the tears that have sprung to her eyes and offers him a slightly embarrassed smile. 

“Thanks, but emphasis on someday,” she says, tone light. He gives her a quizzical look. “I’m still way too young to have kids right now. No offense to Nadia, but I don’t know how she balances work and motherhood.”

Samuel chuckles. “Sheer stubborn will, I think.”

“For what it’s worth, though,” Carla says after a minute, “I think you’d be a great father, too. You’re going to make a girl really lucky, eventually. I like Marina, don’t get me wrong, but she screwed up when she let you go.”

At her words, his grip involuntarily tightens on her waist. It’s a slight movement; barely noticeable at all, in his opinion, but he doesn’t think the way Carla’s eyes darken just a bit when it happens is entirely in his head. She looks at him, eyes ticking between either of his own before falling down to his mouth, and he experimentally squeezes her hips even more, watching as her lashes flutter and she sucks in a slow, short breath. They stand there—caught up in their own world, everything halted around them—and just gaze at each other.

He’s just about to ask her if they can go somewhere more private so they can talk when Lu appears out of nowhere, squealing in drunken excitement as she pulls them both into a double-hug. 

“What are you two just standing around for? We only have this place for another hour, come on!” She says, gesturing over to where everyone else is dancing together in a circle. Samuel hadn’t even realized that the band had switched the music to something more upbeat, let alone that he and Carla had stopped moving. 

He looks over at her, and she looks back for a second before a cute grin forms on her lips and she slips her hand in his, tugging him over to their friends. Samuel feels his chest warm as he watches Carla get pulled in by Omar, both of them singing along to the song with smiles on their faces, and then Rebe and Ander are grabbing Samuel and yanking him into joining them. At some point, he ends up with Amaya on his shoulders, and when Carla happens to glance up and meet his eye, he smiles pointedly at how she’s dancing with Yasmin balanced on her toes. She rolls her eyes at him and shakes her head like he’s ridiculous, but her nose is wrinkled in a pleased way. 

They all have to leave the restaurant by ten p.m., and everyone’s tired by the time they get home, so Carla and Samuel go straight up to their room. He immediately plops down at the foot of the bed, collapsing onto his back as Carla slips into the en-suite to get changed. 

He’s going to do it when she gets out, when there’s no more interruptions. He isn’t going to back out at the last second, either. He’s going to talk to her, tell her that he has feelings for her, and he’s going to find out concretely that she feels the same about him. 

Despite everything, Samuel isn’t nervous. In fact, he’s the complete opposite, something that’s usually only attainable by alcohol, even though he kept his word and didn’t drink anything stronger than soda all night. He’s just calm, at peace. That doubtful voice in his head is nonexistent now.

Carla’s, however, is muffled as she calls out for him from the bathroom. He gets up and walks over, knocking once, and she opens the door for him. “Yeah?”

“Can you unzip my dress for me? I can’t reach it,” she says, turning around and drawing her hair over her shoulder.

That calm feeling is suddenly demolished by his thumping heart as he finds himself staring at the expanse of Carla’s shoulders: the smooth skin, the dark moles; and the fainter freckles mixed in, hardly visible beneath the bathroom’s artificial light. His tongue darts out over his bottom lip.

“Sure,” he murmurs, eyes catching on a few strands of hair that she missed. They cling to her like fine-spun gold, and he reaches out and slowly sweeps them aside with the barest tips of his fingers. He gets distracted by the goosebumps that sprout up in his touch’s wake, smoothing them with his thumb. Carla shudders ever-so-slightly.

He blinks and swallows thickly, gently dragging the zipper down until Carla can get to it herself. When he removes his hands, she slowly turns to face him. Her eyes are big, the irises almost black.

Samuel reverts back to his original plan of _spontaneity_ and _lack of thinking_ in that moment, and kisses her. 

She inhales sharply against his cheek, but her lips are soft on his own. They don’t move though, and neither of them try to deepen the kiss; in fact, Samuel leans back again fairly quickly, slowly opening his eyes and waiting for her reaction.

Carla pulls him in by the neck and crashes their mouths back together. He grunts with the delicious force of it, sliding his palms along her spine and pressing in even further. Their tongues flirt with each other, and they kiss until they’re breathless and have no choice but to break apart so that they don’t suffocate. 

He’s already dizzy, though; from a lack of air, yes, but mostly just because of _Carla._

“Are you okay?” He whispers, their foreheads resting together.

He feels her nod, and when he looks, she’s wearing a small smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t sure what else to say,” he admits with a quiet laugh, grinning. “My brain’s kind of completely blank right now.”

Carla sweetly pecks his lips. “Well, is it working enough to get me out of this dress?”

Instead of verbally answering, Samuel kisses her again, his fingers moving to the zip and pulling it the rest of the way down. He slips his hands into the open flaps so that he can feel her skin, warm and soft, and Carla mumbles a quiet, pleased noise. Then it just sounds impatient when all he does is continue to caress her, making no further moves to push the gown off of her shoulders. 

“Off,” Carla says, and he chuckles at her when she starts trying to squirm out of the strap-sleeves.

He offers her a cheeky smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

That earns him an amusing look that’s half-heated, half-unimpressed as he starts helping her, pulling the bodice of the dress down until she can get her arms out and it gently slinks to the floor. She’s left there standing in a white strapless bra and matching panties, and Samuel stares at her body in silent wonder before looking back up at her face.

“Wow,” he breathes.

“Are you going to tell me that I’m beautiful again?”

Samuel smirks. “Are you tired of hearing it?”

“Not from you,” she says, voice a little tender, and places her hand on his cheek and kisses him once more. He only vaguely registers her fingers undoing the buttons of his black dress shirt, as lost in her mouth as he is, and he pliantly moves his arms so that she can push the garment open and let it fall somewhere behind him. 

He also goes easily as Carla begins walking forward, her hands resting on his bare chest while he has one on her waist and the other wrapped up in her hair, as satiny as he imagined it would be between his fingers. They stop when the backs of his knees bump against the mattress, making out for a little while until Carla coaxes him into sitting down with a light shove. 

She’s in his lap not even a full second later, lips slotted back together. Samuel lets his hands roam across her entire body, eventually settling at her lower back. It’s not until Carla moans a needy noise that he slides them lower, gripping her ass and experimentally grinding her against his erection. She breaks their kiss to gaze down at him hotly, lips parted and cheeks a little flushed in the dim lamplight, and she looks like a complete vision. Samuel groans, leaning in to suck a trail of wet kisses over the slope of her neck, breathing her familiar scent in.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, grinding and gasping and kissing, but he feels like he’s going to come in his pants if he doesn’t get out of them soon. Still, he’s struck with the sudden urge to stop Carla once he feels her hands on his belt.

“Carla,” he mumbles into her mouth. When she doesn’t answer, just tugs down his zipper and starts taking his cock out, he miraculously ignores how good her hand alone feels and wraps his fingers around her wrists. He pulls back, chest heaving. “Carla, wait.”

“What?” She asks, breathless. “What’s wrong?” 

He thinks he sees something scared flash across her features, so in order to comfort her, he releases one of her arms and cups her jaw. Drags his thumb over her swollen lower lip, fighting the compulsion to lean up and suck it back between his teeth. He needs to ask her this, first.

“I just want to double check that you’re sure about this,” he says earnestly. “I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

Carla softens, the line of her shoulders falling with a gentle sigh. “You’re too good for me.”

“I wish you would stop saying stuff like that,” he replies, shaking his head. “And that you’d trust me whenever I tell you how incredible you are.”

She smiles. “I told you, I do trust you. It’s just still hard to believe.” Her smile turns sultry. “But you can show me.”

“You’re sure?” 

He doesn’t want this to change anything between them, not in a bad way. Deep down, he knows that this’ll probably just make their entire situation _easier,_ all things considered, but he’s not thinking about their deal—they’ve moved past that a long time ago. He’s just worried about them.

A brief pang of disappointment lances through him as Carla gets up, but it’s gone in an instant when he realizes what she’s doing. She stares down at him, lips still twisted in a smirk, and reaches behind herself to unhook her bra. He can sense her still looking at his face as she drops it to the floor, but his eyes are admittedly nowhere near her own, taking in the sight of her soft breasts and rosy, peaked nipples instead. 

He finally meets her gaze again, and she leisurely drags her panties down her thighs. He follows the movement, dick twitching against his abdomen. She’s so fucking beautiful.

Samuel takes her in, unable to resist wrapping his hand around himself and stroking slowly. Carla hums in appreciation, biting her lip, then drags her tongue over the pads of her index and middle fingers before lowering her hand between her legs. 

He lets out a low groan as she starts rubbing in slow circles. She tips her head back, exposing the column of her throat to him, and Samuel suddenly can’t stand the distance between them anymore, launching himself off the bed and pulling her into his arms. She lets out a tiny squeal of surprise that dissolves into a moan as his cock bumps against her stomach and he devours her mouth. He moves her backwards until she meets the opposite wall, where he holds her hands above her head with one of his own and uses the other to graze through her folds, staring down at her to watch her lips part and eyelashes flutter. 

When Samuel gets to her clit, touching her just how she’d touched herself a moment ago, she gasps and tips her chin up, searching for his mouth again. He obliges, sliding their tongues together and swallowing the soft sounds she’s making. He continues teasing her for a few seconds, at least until she gets impatient and starts squirming against his fingertips, and then he relishes in how her back arches a little as he sinks his fingers into her without warning. 

Despite the fact that Carla’s the one being pleasured right now, Samuel has to take a moment to collect himself when he feels her clenching around his fingers as she adjusts to him. He doesn’t even want to consider what it’s going to be like when he’s inside of her for real; the mere thought may make this whole thing way more premature than he wants to be. 

“Samuel,” she whines lowly, and he takes that as a signal for him to move, so he starts pumping his fingers in and out of her. He takes his time exploring her, every ridge, bump, and silky patch of skin, mouth watering at just how wet she is. Part of him can’t believe it—that’s all because of _him._

Carla cries out particularly loudly when he curls his fingers on a downwards tug and scrapes that sweet spot inside of her. He drops his hand where it’s holding hers in place and uses it to cover her mouth in an attempt to stifle the sound. 

“You have to be quiet,” he murmurs against the shell of her ear. Carla shivers, even as she narrows her eyes at him. He just grins cheekily in response, removing his hand to kiss her again and muffle the softer groans she emits as he continues moving.

He adds another finger inside of her, working her clit over with the pad of his thumb. Carla eventually stops kissing him in favor of just hotly gasping into his mouth, her hands holding his head in place, fingers anchored tightly in his hair. The sharp pricks on his scalp whenever she tugs just makes him impossibly harder than he already is, cock drooling against the inside of her thigh when she hooks her leg around his waist and pulls him in closer.

She comes like that a few minutes later, wrapped around him like a boa constrictor and muting her gasping cries into the meat of his shoulder as she falls apart beneath his touch. He obediently keeps his fingers deep inside of her, unmoving, and his palm pressed to her clit until she shoves her hand between their bodies and pulls him out of her with a whimper. The wet sound makes his head spin, but the sight of Carla, cheeks darkened and head tipped back against the wall as she catches her breath, just has him hungry for more.

And, okay, feeling a little smug. But screw it, he just made Carla Rosón _come._

She opens her eyes to half-mast, catching him smirking at her. It only widens as he says, “That wasn’t on my résumé.”

“Oh, my god, _shut up,_ ” Carla says, giggling. 

He laughs too, leaning in to kiss her. She indulges him for a moment before he feels her hand on his dick, and Samuel groans against her lips. The tips of her fingers tease him, grazing lightly.

And then she takes him into her hand and squeezes, stroking him in a way that makes him grunt. He starts slowly fucking himself into her fist, but when Carla suddenly twists her wrist and the skin of her palm catches deliciously on the head, his hips stutter and a shocked groan escapes his lips.

Carla’s own smirk curves against his mouth, and she pulls back so that their faces are mere inches apart. “You have to be quiet,” she says mockingly. “The others might hear you, you know.”

He growls playfully, and Carla laughs in delight as Samuel abruptly sweeps her into his arms and lifts her off of the floor. She just plays with his hair at the back of his neck and glances innocently towards the ceiling, biting her lip in a smile. Her breasts now at face-level with her newly elevated height, he rubs the seam of his mouth over her nipple in revenge. 

She softly exhales as his tongue creeps out to tease at her, but he doesn’t linger for long, instead turning around and abruptly depositing her onto the bed. Carla lands with another laugh and a bounce, draping her arms around Samuel’s neck and drawing him in when he crawls on top of her. 

They kiss leisurely, and in spite of his very obvious need wedged between their stomachs, Samuel’s in no rush. Nevertheless, he’s not about to complain when Carla uses her heels to finally push his pants and briefs off of him in one go, just lifts his hips and shimmies out of them quickly before pressing the length of his body against her once more. She spreads her legs and tilts her own hips up until his cock is resting against the hot line of her cunt, encouraging him to slide along her folds. He hisses through his teeth as he does; she already feels amazing. Carla grins up at him.

“I want you,” she murmurs, framing his face in her hands. Samuel nods, his eyes squeezed shut, but wrenches them back open so he can reach over and pull out the strip of condoms from the nightstand. Carla raises her eyebrows in amusement when she sees them, huffing a disbelieving laugh. “Did you have those in there this whole time?”

He chuckles. “No. You don’t remember Rebe saying how this place is stocked with them on our first night?”

“I didn’t actually think she was being serious.”

“She wasn’t, not really,” Samuel replies, tearing off one of the condoms and opening the wrapper. “Just both of the nightstands have them.”

Carla leans up with a hum, taking the condom from his fingers. “Well, I appreciate her foresight.”

“I don’t know how I feel about you talking about our friend’s foresight when you have your hands wrapped around my dick,” he says as she rolls the condom onto him.

Her smile turns sly. “There’s a joke in there somewhere, probably.”

“What?”

“You know,” she starts, lips quirking, “foresight, foreskin…”

Laughter suddenly bubbles out of Samuel. He sits back, covering his face with his hand and shaking his head at her. “That was _horrible._ ”

He feels her swat his shoulder. “Seriously? ‘That wasn’t on my résumé’?”

“That’s not nearly as bad as what you just said,” he argues between giggles. 

Carla just grins, moving onto her knees and crawling over to him. She straddles his lap and places her hands on his shoulders. “Hey, I never claimed to be a comedian or anything.”

“Good,” he huffs. “Let’s keep it that way.”

“Samuel,” she says sweetly, rising a little, “stop talking now.”

“You started—”

His sentence is cut off in a choked groan as Carla lines him up at her entrance and lowers herself down onto him. For a second, his vision goes white, because she is hotter and tighter and wetter than he ever imagined, whether it be in the last twenty minutes, this whole week, or one embarrassing morning a few years back when he had a sex dream about her and woke up halfway close to coming in his sweatpants. He’d jacked himself off and then struggled to make eye contact with her the entire day when he got to work, feeling guilty about having those kinds of thoughts about a woman who wasn’t only his superior, but who also didn’t want him.

This past week, though, he has felt like more of her equal than ever. And she certainly wants him now; she’d said it, he can _feel_ it, and he still can’t fucking believe it. Like she can read his mind, Carla cups his jaw in her hands and slants her lips over his in a slow kiss.

Then she starts moving.

“Fuck,” Samuel hisses. She bites her lip and throws her head back, fingers digging into his shoulders further and further with each bounce in his lap. He parts his lips on a wordless moan, and Carla’s gaze is burning as she looks down at him with half-lidded eyes. 

They abruptly screw shut when he grips her tighter and starts guiding her hips in a rocking motion a couple moments later, a gasp leaving her throat as her clit rubs against him. He mouths at her shoulder. Bites and sucks at her skin, groans once he feels her fingers in his hair again. Carla’s making high, needy noises that are sort of driving him insane, but her effort to quiet them against his temple or in the heel of her own hand really does something to him, urging him to go faster.

Samuel maps her chest with his mouth as he meets her thrusts, muttering how good she feels, how beautiful she is, and then he briefly loses his rhythm when he nearly lets out an _I love you_ against the curve of her breast. Telling her that for the first time while they’re having sex would probably be monumentally idiotic, but thankfully, Carla doesn’t notice his near slip-up. Just to be sure that she’s distracted, however, he wraps his arms around her back and lays her down, swallowing her quiet gasp as he sinks back into her.

Still, while he may not think it’s the best time to tell her right now, he’s unable to keep his love for her out of his movements. Surprisingly, Carla doesn’t try to speed things along as he fucks her tenderly. The moment is made even more intimate when he entwines their fingers on the mattress and stares into her eyes, both of them unable to look away.

After several minutes, he feels his abdomen clench and steadily speeds back up. Carla drags him down to crush their lips together, tongues mingling, and he figures she must be getting close too when she clenches around him similarly to how she’d tightened on his fingers earlier. Samuel doesn’t have a point to prove or anything, but he definitely needs to make her come again before he does; he wants to be able to see her fall undone, and he’s sure that if he lets go first, then he’s not going to be able to focus on much of anything immediately afterward.

It only takes his thumb putting pressure on her clit and a few more deep, dragging thrusts before Carla’s mouth drops open and her fingers knot in the pillow beneath her head. She holds him in place with her ankles locked behind his lower back, so tightly that he can’t even move anymore, just stare down in awe as she goes stiff and then shivers through the rest of her orgasm. She only makes stuttery, breathy noises through her nose, her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip to silence anything else, and Samuel craves for a time where they’ll be able to do this and she can be as loud as she wants. 

He soothes her with sweeping touches and gentle kisses, sweetly placing them all over her face and collarbones. Once she’s recovered, she rolls them over until they’re lying on their sides, sliding her hands through his sweat-slicked hair and sucking on a dizzying part of his neck until he finishes only mere moments later. 

And just like that, he feels at peace again.

*

Neither of them have actually exhausted their need for each other after rounds two and three, they’re just too _physically_ exhausted to keep going any longer for the night. It’s probably for the best: it’s nearing one in the morning and they need to be up pretty early tomorrow to prepare for the wedding. 

Samuel lies on his back and stares up on the ceiling, basking in the afterglow of his most recent orgasm. Carla’s facing him on her side, her head cushioned on his shoulder as she quietly traces his profile with her fingertips, smoothing them over either of his eyebrows, along the line of his nose, across the curve of his lip and down to the point of his chin. It’s not until she starts brushing the tips of his eyelashes with particular interest that he finally twitches his lips in amusement and glances at her in his peripheral. 

His voice is low and grumbly as he asks her, “Having fun?”

“Be quiet,” she murmurs defensively, pushing at his face. He chuckles. “I’ve been wanting to do that for forever. You know there are women who would kill to have your eyelashes, right?”

“If I could share them, I would,” he says mock-seriously.

Carla snickers, draping her arm over his stomach and settling deeper into his side. “How noble of you.”

Samuel grins and brushes her hair back from her face, leaning in to softly capture her lips. He gently drags his fingers over the crest of her shoulder, caressing down her back. When he gets to her side, however, she squeaks and jumps a little, pulling away from him.

“What was that?” He asks, smirking because he already knows the answer. 

She narrows her eyes at him. “Nothing.”

“No, no,” he tuts. “Are you _ticklish?_ ”

To check his theory, he skims his nails over that spot again before Carla can react first. Once more, she makes a noise, only this time she actually manages to squirm out of his grasp with a wide grin. Samuel chases after her, rolling over and trapping her between his knees, attacking her sides mercilessly with his fingers. 

Carla laughs and gasps and struggles, and only when she pinches him hard on his stomach does he relent with a gasp of his own. He collapses back beside her, smiling, and he observes her with his face half-buried in his pillow.

She looks just as happy and loose as he feels right now, her hair a mess and laughter-induced tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. She smells like sex and citrus-y jasmine. There’s a bruise he’d sucked on her shoulder that he’s sure he’s going to be in trouble for later, but at the moment, he can’t bring himself to care. He doesn’t ever want to leave this bed.

“To think we could’ve been doing this all week,” Samuel mumbles. “But I guess we have plenty of time, still.”

It must have been the wrong thing to say, because although Carla does smile, it’s not as bright and open as it had been seconds ago. He curses himself for ruining their light mood, even if he isn’t exactly sure how. 

After a few moments, she sighs. “Samuel, what _are_ we doing?”

He frowns in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You and I,” she explains, gesturing between them. “What is this?”

Samuel contemplates that for a minute. He certainly knows that he’s head over heels in love with her, and that Carla also reciprocates at least some of his feelings. But he also knows that she’s been used and taken advantage of by a lot of people in her life, and he wouldn’t be surprised if that also made her cagey, let alone doubtful of someone’s true intentions.

“What do you want it to be?”

“Stop,” she murmurs, shaking her head before looking at him. She doesn’t sound angry though, but like she’s actually pleading; he can see it in her eyes. “Don’t answer my question with a question. Just tell me.”

He shifts onto his shoulder so that he can face her straight-on, searching her gaze. He exhales a deep breath. 

“I like you, Carla.” He can’t bring himself to tell her the full truth yet. _Love._ The last thing he wants is to scare her off. “I _really_ like you.”

Carla lowers her eyes, the corner of her lips twitching somewhat. It still seems sad, though, and he wishes they could just go back two minutes. She rolls onto her side, as well.

“I really like you, too,” she admits. “For a long time now, if I’m being honest.”

That kickstarts his pulse. Eagerly, his tongue darts out across his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s embarrassing, honestly. From the very beginning, you were just… you were just safe to me.” She swallows, voice going impossibly quiet. “Samuel, I don’t want to take advantage of that anymore.”

Whatever warmth he’d been feeling at hearing the confirmation that she likes him is instantly doused by that. “What?” He asks, indignant. He leans up, frowning again. “You weren’t taking advantage of me, Carla, that’s not what this was. I told you, I have feelings for you—”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she replies, smoothing her hand over his chest in an effort to calm him down. “I meant our deal. I took advantage of your loyalty—and now, your feelings—to me by asking you for help.”

Samuel flattens his lip into a thin line, and then he takes her hand in his. “I’m only going to say this once, okay?” He waits for the tiny nod she gives him. “I would agree to help you ten-thousand times over, no matter the circumstances, no matter what I do or don’t get out of it. And that’s not you taking advantage of me, that’s me making my own decisions, because I’m capable of it. I’m _willing._ I’d do anything for you.”

It’s not the confession he wants to make, but it’s still one just as important. Carla stares at him with wide eyes. 

She doesn’t say anything at all, actually, so he pulls her in by the hand and takes it as a good sign that she curls into him instead of getting out of bed. He tucks her head underneath his chin, draws the blanket up their bodies, and rubs her back.

“We have a big day tomorrow,” he whispers. “Let’s go to bed.”


	8. to love and to cherish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long! it’s been hectic lately, but enjoy <3

Carla’s unable to stop the smile that spreads on her lips as she feels something soft and warm brushing against the back of her neck. It’s a nice—and _massive—_ contrast to the soreness pulsing throughout the rest of her body, and she stretches her calves, the sleepy hum she lets out dissolving into a deep sigh. 

“What time is it?” She mumbles, eyes still closed.

“Early,” is Samuel’s reply, uttered between gentle kisses on her nape. “The sun’s just beginning to rise.”

“Then why are you awake?” His five o’clock shadow lightly rasps against her skin in a deliberate way, and a small shiver eases down her spine. Her smile widens. Knowingly, she says, “Ah.”

She moves onto her back, finally letting her eyes crack open. Samuel grins down at her, looking thoroughly debauched, which is ironic considering the early morning glow of the sun backlights him, bursting against the top of his head in an orange halo. The sight steals her breath away.

Fondly, she lifts her hand up and smooths it over his wild hair, before it settles on his cheek. She drags her thumb over his stubble, then his lips, mapping him like she had last night.

_Last night._

She realized many things last night, the fact that she’s completely in love with Samuel being one of them. She supposes she has been since the very start, at least a little bit, and she also supposes, deep down, part of her has known this whole time, too. 

But she doesn’t think about those other revelations she made, instead pulling Samuel down to her so that she can gently capture his lips. The kiss begins unhurriedly, remaining that way even as it deepens and she feels Samuel’s tongue slither against her own. He leisurely skims his touch down her flank until his fingers come to a rest on the curve of her bare hip. 

All it takes is her spreading her thighs for him to move his hand even further south and tease through her folds. She’s still wet from the night prior, and the easy slide of his fingers sends little sparks through her; unfortunately, he doesn’t touch her for long, drawing his hand away at the same time as he does his lips. Carla lets out a low noise of protest and leans up a little, chasing him with a tiny pout. He just pecks her one last time before giving her a smile and lowering his head.

Samuel trails the same tender, phantom-like kisses he’d been giving her when she woke up along the column of her throat, only adding a little suction once he gets to her collarbones. She lets her eyes fall closed again and melts into the mattress with a content hum, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth in anticipation once he begins mouthing over the tops of her breasts. He continues to tease her though, kissing around her nipples or rubbing the seam of his lips over them in the faintest of touches, and Carla opens her mouth to tell him to get on with it when he finally swirls his tongue around one of them, making her gasp instead.

He worships her breasts for a minute, sucking and licking and caressing until she’s so high-strung that she has to press her legs together to relieve some of the pressure. Thankfully, Samuel moves on, peppering more kisses down her abdomen until finally, _finally_ he’s shouldering his way between her legs and parting her with his tongue.

“Oh…” Carla exhales as the tip curls around her clit. It’s slow, and hot, but nothing compares to the fire that licks up her spine when he sucks her into his mouth. “ _Samuel._ ”

He groans a little, the vibration tearing a gasp from her throat. Now that she’s both groggy _and_ turned on, it’s much harder to be quiet than it was yesterday, and she gnaws on her lip to try and muffle the whimpers and moans that want to escape with every molten stroke of his tongue. 

Occasionally, he moves it lower, just barely sliding it past her entrance or suckling outright at it, and Carla tries to grind against his face for more. However, her attempts are fruitless; Samuel anchors her with his hands on her inner thighs, both spreading her open and controlling her movements at once.

The friction from his new facial hair feels nice, though; small, sharp pinpricks that especially have her seeing stars when he suddenly shifts his chin up at the same time as she tries to bear down and all that stubble scrapes deliciously against her sensitive clit. Her breathing hitches in both shock and pleasure, but she still lifts her head and half-glares at him; the sensation was just on the right side of _too much_. That was definitely done on purpose.

He hides his smug, dimpled grin in the crease of her thigh, licking there for a moment before he returns his ministrations to her cunt. Carla lies back down and slips her hand into his hair, breathing turning heavier and heavier the closer he pushes her to the edge. At one point, she wraps her other hand in the sheets, and she feels Samuel’s own untangle it so that they can entwine their fingers together. Just like last night, it makes her heart stutter and stomach flip, only it’s more overwhelming now because she’s gripping his hair tight and squeezing her eyes shut and an _I love you_ is exploding in her mind along with white-hot fireworks as she comes.

She can vaguely sense Samuel coaxing her through her orgasm, although everything is star-bright and hazy for a long while. By the time she checks back into her surroundings, her eyelids are heavy and her limbs feel like they’ve fused together with the mattress. Samuel’s softly dragging his lips across her thighs, then over her abdomen. When he gets to her mouth, she’s mustered enough strength to tip her head up and return his kiss, but only barely.

Carla hums a pleased noise, tasting herself on him, and slowly opens her eyes to look at him when he pulls away a few inches. She smiles as he kisses the point of her nose, the curve of her eyebrow, then her cheekbone; the gestures so sweet that she actually feels herself blush. Ironic, considering he’d just eaten her out, but.

After a few minutes, she no longer feels as if her entire bloodstream has turned into cement, just three-fourths of it, so she begins lightly scraping her nails down his torso. A lovely gasp leaves his mouth once they catch the flat of his nipples—she mentally reminds herself to explore that later—and his abs flex beneath her touch, but his hand on her wrist prevents her from going any lower.

“If you’re going to ask me if I’m sure about this again,” she lazily murmurs into their kiss, “I think it’s a little too late for that.”

Samuel huffs a laugh, but shakes his head. “I already took enough of your time this morning.” 

His dick is hard and leaking a bit where it’s nudging into her thigh. “What about you?” She asks with a frown, although it’s admittedly tempered by her exhaustion. 

“I’ll survive,” he says, pecking her one last time on the cheek. “Go back to sleep, you have a while before everyone else gets up.”

Carla wakes up again around an hour or so later, and to an empty bed. Panic briefly sets upon her when she thinks about the last time this happened and _why,_ but it vanishes quickly. She dimly remembers Samuel muttering something about breakfast to her at one point, and a happy little smile forms on her lips.

In the shower, however, her less-than happy thoughts from last night begin to catch up with her, the ones that she tried to bring up with Samuel after they had sex. He hadn’t fully understood her when she asked what they were doing. While it had been more than gratifying to hear that this wasn’t meaningless to him, that he has feelings for her too, it also worried Carla. Because, really, _what are they doing?_ Are they in a real relationship now? If so, what kind of relationship _starts_ with marriage? And not even for the right reasons, at that.

It seems so fucked up, but the way Samuel makes her feel is too right, and it all just has her very confused. She decides to stop thinking about it for now, shutting off the shower and stepping out. 

Carla fishes out a fresh pair of shorts from one of the drawers, but finds Samuel’s shirt that she had briefly worn yesterday and pulls it over her head. She doesn’t bother drying her hair or even putting on any makeup before heading downstairs, not needing those defenses that she’s gotten used to arming herself with over the years. It’s so unlike the first morning she spent here, entering the kitchen completely done up and feeling like a total outsider amongst this family with their bed head and pajamas. 

The only one in the kitchen this time around is Samuel, though. He’s munching on a piece of fruit and scrolling on his phone, and she just takes a moment to observe him, another unbidden smile curling on her lips as warmth blooms in her chest. 

She could get used to this. 

Samuel looks up and spots her, his face lighting up in a big, dumb grin that has her heart skipping a beat. As she walks forward, he meets her halfway, next to the breakfast counter. Carla drapes her arms around his neck and leans up on her toes to give him a lingering kiss. He’s freshly shaven, smells like his body wash, and beneath the sweet flavor of the strawberry he’d been eating, she can taste traces of minty toothpaste on him. He must’ve showered, too.

He’s still beaming when they part. “You’re wearing my shirt again.”

“Mm. I am.”

“Did I tell you that seeing you in it yesterday snapped something in my brain?”

“You know, I think you forgot to mention it,” she replies, amused. “And is it having the same effect now?”

He brushes his lips over her earlobe. “Actually, it’s making me want to fuck you on this counter,” he tells her, voice dipping low and sexy and making arousal stir in her belly. And then he has the audacity to straighten with an innocent-looking smile and say, “But first, breakfast.”

Carla glowers as he returns behind the other side of the counter. “Tease.”

He just snickers, and despite herself, she’s not all that annoyed as she hops up onto one of the bar stools. She places her chin in her hands and watches Samuel as he fetches something from the oven and moves around, his body preventing her from seeing what he’s doing. 

Then he turns and sets a plate down in front of her, and she finds herself staring at a neat stack of pancakes covered in syrup and chopped fruit.

She blinks, then looks up at him. “You made this?”

Samuel shrugs, although it’s a little too casual to be anything but shy. “Well, they’re your favorite.” When she just continues to stare at him, touched and weirdly speechless over him making her _pancakes,_ of all things, his face flushes a little. “You said it yourself, I’ve been ordering food for you for the last five years. I know you. And what you like.”

Carla’s expression softens. “Yeah, you do,” she says quietly, a small, but nonetheless genuine smile curving her mouth. 

As Samuel turns back around to get his own plate, she picks up her fork and starts to dig in. Sweet, syrupy, and fluffy pancake burst on her tongue, and she closes her eyes, shoulders slumping as she sighs in satisfaction. 

“What happened to none of you being able to cook?”

“Oh, I ruined the first five or so pancakes,” he admits with a laugh, “and I had to completely throw out the first batch of batter.”

Carla giggles. “I guess practice does make perfect. This is delicious, Samuel.”

“Thanks,” he replies bashfully. It amazes Carla that he can make her come five times in less than twelve hours without batting an eye, but he turns shy with stuff like this. It’s also, weirdly, kind of hot. 

They eat their breakfasts in peaceful silence. When they’re done, Samuel gathers their plates and begins to set them in the sink. Carla slips out of her seat with a mischievous smirk, sauntering her way around the kitchen island and pressing herself along the length of his back.

He shivers slightly as she snakes her arms around his waist, pushing his shirt up a tad and deliberately scritching her nails along his skin. It contrasts with the soft, chaste kiss she plants on his shoulder blade. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s you who said, ‘first, breakfast,’ before you fuck me on the counter, no?”

Samuel turns in the circle of her arms with a sly grin. “I don’t know, did I?” She pushes her knee between his legs in reprimand and he gasps, nodding his head. “No, you’re right, I did, yeah.”

She laughs as she leans up on her toes to kiss him. Samuel eagerly returns it, and neither of them part even as he walks forward and boxes her in against the island, then hoists her on top of it. He stands in the gap of her thighs, warm hands resting on them as they make out. 

Carla frames his jaw between her thumb and fingers and uses the leverage to angle his head to the side, sucking at a drop of syrup on the corner of his mouth before making her way down his neck. She remembers how he reacted earlier this morning when she touched his nipples and experimentally rubs her thumb over one through his t-shirt. It elicits another shiver out of him, one that she feels all the way down to his hardening length, even with the added layers from their pajamas. 

Samuel’s just started to rock against her in full when someone says, “Well, well, do I at least get a meal with the show?”

Carla’s ankles being hooked around the back of Samuel’s legs keep him from actually springing away from her, but he does break their kiss with way more panic than she does. She just smiles, unashamed, and gazes over her shoulder at where Valerio is beaming salaciously in the entryway, wearing a tank top, pajama pants, and silk kimono. 

“It’s a private show, I’m afraid,” she says, fake-apologetic.

“Then maybe don’t broadcast it somewhere so public,” Valerio replies lightheartedly, and the blueberry that Samuel chucks at him bounces uselessly off of his shoulder as he shuffles over to the fridge. 

Carla laughs, finally unwinding her arms from around Samuel’s neck and letting him go. She jumps down from the counter. With Valerio’s back turned to them, she eyes his erection with interest for a second longer, although relents when Samuel flushes in embarrassment and tries to inconspicuously cover himself with his hands. She just wanted to see him blush again, honestly.

Valerio spins around with a few packets of breakfast meat hanging from his mouth and his arms full of several jars, containers, and random vegetables at the same time as Lu walks in. 

She frowns at Samuel and Carla. “What are you two doing up so early?”

“Each other,” her brother answers with a grin after depositing everything he’s carrying onto the counter. 

“I don’t think I want to know how you know that,” Lu replies, looking mortified. 

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Caught them getting it on right here.”

Carla chuckles as Samuel whirls around to busy himself with the dishes in an attempt to escape from his humiliation, but she still walks over to Valerio and playfully pushes against his head before pouring herself some of the orange juice he’d grabbed. “We were not, thank you very much.”

Not yet, at least.

Lu cocks her own head in thought. “You know, it’s kind of funny how none of us have seen you two kiss until now.”

Samuel and Carla exchange conspiratorial glances, and she hides her amused smile behind the rim of her glass. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

From there, the rest of their friends begin to trickle into the kitchen. Samuel brandishes some more pancakes that he’d been keeping warm in the oven, and even though he and Carla have already eaten, they sit around the big table as everyone else has breakfast. 

As Carla looks around, she’s once again struck by how much has changed. She _feels_ like one of them now; she feels lighter, and she’s also more than a little bit in love. Not only with Samuel, but with all of them, this makeshift family.

And she’s lying to them. Her stomach twists, but she rapidly shoves the guilt aside. 

Her eyes land on Guzmán. He’s staring at her, like he can see through her, and she glances away almost immediately, plastering a smile on her face as she distracts herself by talking to Marina.

Eventually, Lu checks the time and stands up. “Okay, Samuel, say goodbye to your future bride.”

He frowns. “Why?”

“Because we need to get ready. You’re not going to see her until the ceremony.”

Samuel opens his mouth to argue further, but Carla squeezes his shoulder in reassurance. 

“There’s no use in fighting her,” she points out. Several affirmative noises agree with her. Lu just looks a little smug. 

He relaxes beneath Carla’s hand, offering her a smile. “I’ll see you in a few hours then?”

She nods, resisting the urge to lean in and kiss him for a final time, but Samuel surprises her by placing a gentle one on her forehead. She gives him a tender smile of her own before she lets Lu and the other girls whisk her off upstairs.

*

A while later, they’re all gathered in Lu and Rebe’s room, Carla wearing a robe and not much else where she’s sitting still in an armchair. Despite that, she’s nearly ready when Nadia, Amaya, and Yasmin step out of the walk-in closet: Lu is done straightening her hair, she only needs to slick it down and twist it into the bun they’d decided on, and Marina has just leaned back from applying the finishing touches to Carla’s makeup.

“We have a surprise for you,” Nadia announces, beaming.

Carla raises a perfectly lined eyebrow as they move aside, revealing Rebeka holding the dress she bought at the boutique. The taller girl comes forward and sets it down on the bed. “I made some adjustments to it. Nothing big, just brought it in a little around the waist.”

“Thank you,” Carla tells her with a genuine smile.

“But the real surprise is this,” Rebe continues, and Carla’s attention switches to Maya as the girl approaches her, something white and delicate in her tiny hands that she hadn’t been holding before.

As Carla accepts it from her, she already feels a lump lodged in her throat. It’s not hard to decipher what it is. She stares down at the sheer fabric, carefully touching the tips of her fingers to the pearls stitched into it, at a total loss of words.

She senses Lu lean down, the brunette’s lips near her ear. “A bride’s look isn’t complete without a veil, obviously,” she says. Then, softer, “It’s from all of us, darling. But Rebe designed it.”

Blinking back her tears, Carla finally tears her eyes off of the veil and looks up at Rebe. She’s still a little struck, though, and Rebe must see it, because she scoffs quietly and waves her hand in dismissal. “It’s nothing, blondie.”

“No, it’s not, this is… this is so beautiful,” Carla manages, although it comes out hardly louder than a whisper. Her chest has tightened to an almost painful degree, but then she realizes that the pressure is just from her trying not to break down. It’s only a veil, but the fact that they all came together to give this to her… the _sentiment_ of it all… Carla shakes her head. “I don’t deserve this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marina gently chides. “We’re you friends. We love you. Of course you do.”

Samuel’s told her just as much so many times this week. How many more does she need to hear it before she finally starts believing it?

She knows why she can’t, though. They think she’s the Carla who’s marrying Samuel because she wants to spend the rest of her life with him, and not the Carla who had sprung it on him in a selfish effort to save herself. It doesn’t matter how much has changed. It doesn’t matter how much she’s come to realize she loves Samuel, or how much she genuinely does want to be with him. This all started out so wrong, and if they knew the truth, they wouldn’t have done this for her— _any_ of this. They’d probably hate her, just like Guzmán. 

Because of that, Carla really, _really_ can’t take lying to them anymore. 

She licks her lips in apprehension. “I… there’s something I need to tell—”

The sound of ringing fills the room, cutting Carla off and making her twitch so hard that she nearly tears a hole in the veil. Her eyes dart to the iPad sitting on the vanity a few feet away, its screen lit up with an incoming call, and she hates how the interruption has her feeling both disappointed and relieved. 

“Hold that thought,” Lu says apologetically, even if her grin is spread wide across her red-painted lips. She walks over to the iPad and hits the accept button, standing a bit to the side so that everyone can see the smiling, pretty face of the brown-haired woman that appears before them.

Carla feels her blood go cold a little, because she thinks she’d recognize those eyes anywhere, and instantly knows who this woman is.

“Pilar, it’s so good to see you!” Lu says as everyone else simultaneously offers their own cheerful greetings, except Carla, who’s still feeling a little raw and overwhelmed and only manages a small, semi-absent smile. No one seems to notice, however. 

“Hi, girls.” Samuel’s mom waves back at them. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“No, we’re just helping the bride get ready,” Marina tells her, and Lu steps a bit further to the side so that Pilar can see Carla where she’s seated behind her.

Carla tries not to shift awkwardly as the older woman’s eyes land on her, warm and motherly. “Carla, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“You too. I’m sorry it’s not in person, though,” she replies honestly.

“Don’t worry about that. While I wish I could be there today, we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other later,” Pilar says, although the words don’t really have the assuring effect on Carla that she probably intended them to. Carla just nods, her accompanying smile tight.

The older woman remains unaware of Carla’s discomfort as everyone else joins in on the conversation, swapping compliments with Pilar and showcasing Carla’s dress to her. They discuss the wedding a bit, but eventually, Nadia asks if Pilar wants to see Samuel.

“Actually,” she replies, “I was wondering if I could speak to Carla alone for a moment?”

Carla straightens a little in surprise and sudden anxiety, even though she expected this somewhere deep down. Samuel _had_ told her that Pilar wanted to speak to her yesterday. 

Lu only hesitates for a brief moment. It probably has more to do with her meticulously planned timetable being disrupted than anything, although she ultimately relents. “Sure. We’re pretty much done, anyway.”

They all trickle out one by one, squeezing Carla on the shoulder or giving her smiles on their way until it’s just her and Pilar left in the room. Carla moves closer, lowering herself onto the vanity’s stool so that she’s right in front of the iPad, her stomach churning itself into knots. She’s always had an impenetrable poker face, though. 

And still, Pilar sees right through her. “There’s no need to be nervous,” the woman tells her, face kind. “I don’t mean to freak you out, I just wanted the chance to talk privately. I wasn’t sure when we’d be able to. I think Samuel might be trying to hide you from me, like he hasn’t done that enough already.”

It’s said lightly and with a laugh, but it still makes Carla feel bad. She smiles apologetically. “Please, don’t blame him. It’s not his fault. If anything, it’s mine.”

“Oh, honey, I’m not mad at either of you. I was hurt at first, yeah, but you’re adults, you had your reasons, and honestly, after what happened with Marina, I’m not surprised he wanted to keep you a secret.”

“Yeah, he… he told me about that.”

“It changed him,” Pilar says, nodding sadly. “He was always shy, but he was bright, you know? After that, he became hardened. More distant. He’s never been the best about talking to me about what he’s going through, although that’s not his fault either.” 

She clears her throat before continuing, “But it’s good that there’s no bad blood between the three of you. I’m glad that Samu’s finally moved on, too. And to see at least _one_ of my sons get married before I start going gray; I was beginning to think it was never gonna happen.” Pilar laughs to herself. “I guess it’s just a mom thing. I’m sure yours felt the same way, no?”

Carla presses her lips together in the semblance of a rueful smile, lifting a shoulder. “I wouldn’t know, actually. My parents and I don’t really talk.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Pilar says quickly, shock and embarrassment coloring her features. “The girls said you didn’t have any family here, but I didn’t know—”

“It’s alright,” Carla interrupts her, meaning it. “Really.”

Pilar still looks contrite. She gnaws on her bottom lip. “Samuel mentioned that you’ve been through some things.”

“He did?”

The older woman nods before letting out a small laugh. “Well, I think his actual words were, ‘she’s so fucking resilient’.” 

Carla smiles, unable to fight the own blush that spreads across her cheeks. She feels her heart flutter at the words. 

“He didn’t elaborate though, and I didn’t want to pry,” Pilar says. “But I can see it in you. He was right, you’re strong.”

“I don’t know about that,” Carla admits. She has never felt weaker in her whole life than she does right now, sitting across from this woman and _deceiving_ her. 

“No, I’ve got a sense for these things. It’s one of the only good traits Samuel has inherited from me, which I’m thankful for. God knows I was never around enough to instill it in him otherwise,” she adds, tone quiet.

“He doesn’t resent you. Samuel’s so frustratingly understanding, I know he doesn’t hold that against you; he respects everything you’ve done for him as a single mother. I don’t think he’s ever once doubted how much you love him.” Carla swallows, staring down at her hands in her lap. “To be honest, I would do anything to have a mom like that.”

She’s surprised to find herself admitting it, her voice quivering a little, but she refuses to cry.

“You do now,” Pilar says, and when Carla looks up in surprise, the woman is gazing back at her with a soft expression. “I don’t know what happened between you and your parents, but you have me, okay? You’re marrying into my family. I’m your mother now. If you ever need to talk to me about anything, even Samuel, you can call me anytime.”

No matter how touched she is by the woman’s words, shame immediately takes over Carla’s body. She can’t stand to see that open and accepting and _loving_ look on Pilar’s face anymore, feeling vile and dirty with herself. _She doesn’t deserve this._ Carla lowers her gaze, unable to stop a few tears from finally falling down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I definitely didn’t mean to make this conversation so intense,” Pilar says lightly, but her smile is gentle.

Carla shakes her head. “It’s not you, I’m just…”

“I understand, honey.” _No, you really don’t,_ Carla thinks. “It’s your wedding day, you’re probably already overwhelmed. I’ll let you finish getting ready, alright? I wouldn’t want to be blamed for ruining your makeup.”

Carla manages a watery smile. “Thank you. For everything.”

Pilar just beams at her. Carla doesn’t doubt that, if they were talking in person, the woman would pull her into a hug.

“No, thank you. Samuel deserves a girl who loves him as much as he loves her.”

With that, the call ends. Carla sits there, feeling drained and shell-shocked, running everything over in her mind. She doesn’t know how much time has actually passed when a soft knock on the door brings her back to reality, and she turns to find Samuel leaning into the room.

“Hey.” 

Carla sniffs, hastily dabbing around her eyes and forcing a smile onto her lips. “Hey.”

Samuel frowns and approaches her. He drags over the armchair she’d previously been sitting in until it’s across from her, perching on the edge of the seat. They’re so close that their knees bracket each other, and he gently touches one of hers. “What’s wrong?”

“I just got off the phone with your mom,” she admits.

“What? She called you?” 

His eyebrows draw further together as Carla nods. “She wanted to speak without you here, just the two of us.”

“What did she say?”

“She…” Carla swallows. “She said that she’s like my mom now. And that I can come to her whenever I need to talk.”

Carla watches as Samuel’s shoulders sag with relief, but he still looks confused about why she’s clearly upset. “Oh. Well, that’s good, right?”

“Yeah.” _No._ She falls silent, staring down at her hands. She debates telling him everything: how she almost confessed to their friends what they’re doing, how she just can’t take this anymore, but she stops herself at the last second. He’ll just reassure her that they’re fine, she’s not doing anything wrong, she’s not being a terrible person—and she’s not sure it’s what she wants to hear right now, so she frowns and looks up at him. “Wait, what are you doing here? You’re not supposed to see me before the wedding.”

“You’re in a robe. And I promise I didn’t look at the dress behind me,” he grins. “I came to get you. Guzmán said he wanted the both of us to meet him in the guest house.”

“What for?”

Samuel shrugs. “To talk, I guess. I don’t know, I’m just as surprised as you are. Maybe he’s finally realized how much of a dick he’s been and wants to apologize?”

Carla has a gut feeling that that isn’t the case, and she can tell that Samuel doesn’t wholly believe that either, but she lets him help her up to her feet anyway. After shoving on a pair of slippers, she follows Samuel downstairs and onto the back patio, then down another flight that leads to a path winding away from the house. A smaller one that Carla didn’t even know existed until now comes into view as they follow it, nestled at the far end of the property.

Suddenly, her gut feeling just turns into an outright bad one. If Guzmán wanted to make amends with them, she doubts he’d pick a place so secluded and private to do it.

Guzmán opens the door before Samuel even has a chance to knock, like he’d been staring out the window and waiting for them. He casts a look over their shoulders, probably to check if anyone else is with them, before holding the door further open and saying grimly, “Come inside.”

Carla and Samuel exchange looks. Still, Samuel hesitantly follows Guzmán in after a moment, and Carla trails right behind him, sticking close to his side. She doesn’t like any of this. Based on the way his jaw is clenched when she glances up at him, neither does Samuel.

“What’s this all about, Guzmán?” He asks.

The blond’s shoulders set before he turns to face them. “Listen, I haven’t told anyone about this, and I don’t plan to. I don’t want to humiliate or expose you. I’m just giving you one final chance to fess up and put a stop to this shit.”

“What did you do?” Samuel’s voice is low and dangerous in a way Carla’s never heard before. 

“You gave me no choice,” Guzmán replies, ignoring his question, “I tried to talk to you, but you wouldn’t see reason, Samu.”

Samuel pulls away from Carla, inching closer to the other man. Despite the conviction she heard in his words, Guzmán doesn’t look proud of himself. 

She hadn’t been paying attention to Samuel right before he punched Derek, but she doesn’t doubt that he didn’t look much different than he does now: arms stiff at his sides, hands clenched into fists, the slightest tremble running throughout his whole body. Carla fights the urge to reach out and touch him, to calm him, afraid that he might snap.

“ _What did you do?”_ He all but snarls in Guzmán’s face.

Carla blinks as someone steps out around the corner behind Guzmán, her strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, the gray suit and turtleneck she’s wearing all but screaming _government._

It seems like it’s been way longer than a week since Carla’s last seen her.

“Mr. Nunier called me on Wednesday,” Ms. Romero announces calmly—although, if Carla didn’t know any better, she’d think the woman looks apologetic. “He said that you two have been lying about your relationship, and that you’re pretending to be together so that Miss Rosón isn’t forced to leave the country.”

Carla remains silent, instead staring at Samuel’s profile. He barely even glances at Ms. Romero as he grits out, “He’s the one who’s lying.”

Guzmán finally seems to lose whatever calm he’d been holding onto, his nostrils flaring and a vein popping out on his neck as he yells, “Wake the fuck up, Samu! People are going to get hurt, your mom’s going to be devastated. Do you really want to end up like Nano? Because that’s where you’re going if you keep up with this. Prison.”

Ms. Romero flattens her lips into a thin line. “I agreed I wouldn’t press charges against you.”

“If, what, he flew you out here out of the kindness of his own heart?” Samuel retorts. “Isn’t _that_ illegal?”

“No, if you were finally honest with me. Mr. Nunier didn’t bribe me,” the woman replies. “I don’t give everyone this many chances, Mr. García. I’m trying to help you do the right thing.”

“This is the right thing,” Samuel immediately counters, stubborn and resolute.

Guzmán’s expression flashes. “Are you really going to throw your life away for _her?_ ” He spits, gesturing harshly at Carla.

At that, Carla gasps as Samuel launches himself forward and grabs the other man by the collar. Before he can even lift his other fist, however, Carla finally reaches out and places her hand on Samuel’s arm.

“Samuel, don’t,” she pleads quietly, vision blurred and voice shaky with unshed tears. He doesn’t look at her, but he doesn’t shrug her off either. “Stop. Let him go, please.”

He remains still for an impossibly long moment, body tense with pent up rage. In her peripheral, she can see Guzmán waiting and staring down at Samuel, breathing heavily through his nose, and Ms. Romero braced to separate them if they start fighting. But Carla keeps her eyes on Samuel, silently begging him to look at her. She curls her fingers tighter around his bicep. He turns his head toward her, just a fraction.

And then he shoves Guzmán far away from him with an angry grunt. 

Guzmán rights himself, leveling Samuel with an icy glare. “You’re making a mistake.”

“No, _you’re_ the one who’s made a mistake,” Samuel replies, voice more even now, but controlled in the way an expert wields a steely knife. Carla holds onto his arm, anchoring herself at his side. It’s for her benefit just as much as it’s for his. “How could you do this? You’re supposed to be my fucking friend.”

Hurt and indignation both flicker across Guzmán’s features. “I am being your friend. You’re the one who’s deceiving every one of us!”

Samuel’s shoulders tense up again. “I’m not—”

“It’s okay,” Carla whispers. “Samuel, just tell them the truth.”

He abruptly looks at her, eyes widened. “The truth?”

Defeat and shame and guilt weighing heavily on her, Carla wordlessly nods. It’s over. Samuel stares at her for a moment, face unreadable, before he squares his jaw, exhales slowly, and takes her hand. He turns to Guzmán and Ms. Romero.

“Fine. I’ll tell you the truth: that I’ve been working for Carla for five years, and six months ago, we started dating. That I recently asked her to marry me, that she said yes, and that we came here with the intention of telling my closest friends and family about the news. That she is not just my boss, but probably the best person I know. Which you’d know too, if you ever gave her a chance.”

He looks back down at Carla, his anger visibly leaving him as his eyes soften. The corner of his mouth pulls up slightly. _Hesitantly,_ all of a sudden. 

“And the truth, the real truth, is that I’ve fallen in love with her,” he continues, and Carla feels her breath leave her lungs as she searches his eyes. Part of her can’t help but think he actually _is_ telling the truth, but… “And I _want_ to marry her.”

Samuel holds her gaze, before his face darkens again and he addresses Guzmán. “You don’t know anything about us. I want you to stay the fuck away from me from now on,” he says coldly. The blond blinks in surprise, opening his mouth to talk, but Samuel ignores him and turns to Ms. Romero. “Are we done here now?”

The woman watches him and Carla for a few tense, seemingly long seconds. Then she nods, not saying a word.

Samuel grasps Carla’s hand tighter and begins to turn towards the door. She lets him pull her along, not even registering where they’re going until suddenly, they’re on the same path they took to the hot springs. He releases her as he starts to pace back and forth. Carla clutches her arms around herself, staring blankly at nothing and getting caught up in her head.

“Fuck!” Samuel swears, abruptly drawing Carla back to reality with a flinch. It’s not the word itself that does it though, muttered brokenly and with angry tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, but the sound his fist makes as it connects with the trunk of a nearby tree. _Crack._ She hopes it’s from bark, and not bone.

Carla watches as he leans his forehead against the tree for a moment. The rapid rise-and-fall of his shoulders gradually lessens as he collects himself. Then he slowly spins around.

“Are you okay?” She swallows before ultimately giving him a nod, shaken. Samuel exhales a deep sigh and runs his hands over his face. Her eyes immediately flick to the knuckles of his right hand, wet with fresh blood and already beginning to swell. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry, if I knew that’s why he wanted to talk to us—”

“He’s right,” Carla says, voice small.

Samuel’s hands pause. He lowers them, revealing a disbelieving expression. “What?”

“He was right, people are going to get hurt because of me. We shouldn’t have done this. _I_ shouldn’t have ever asked you to do this.”

“No,” he argues, shaking his head. Carla could scream because of how fucking stubborn he’s being. Doesn’t he get it? “He was being an asshole.”

“He’s just trying to protect you.”

“Why the fuck does everyone keep saying that?” Samuel snaps all of a sudden, loud enough that it causes a few animals hidden in the forest around them to scatter. “I’m not some helpless idiot in need of saving all the time.”

“No one thinks you’re a helpless idiot,” she replies, sharper than she means to. She sighs, shutting her eyes for a moment. Then she closes the distance between them and cups his tense cheek in her hand. “Samuel, they just care about you.”

“Guzmán went behind my back—”

“We went behind everyone’s backs first. He was _right,_ ” she reemphasizes, not backing down even when she feels him clench his jaw again. “This all started because of me, and now look at you. Your relationships are being put on the line. I don’t want to come between any of you.”

He shakes his head again. “You won’t, Carla.”

“I already have!” She retorts, desperate and frustrated and feeling stifled by both. “You’ve known Guzmán for years, but said that you’re done with him. If it wasn’t for me, it would have never even come to this, why can’t you see that?”

But Samuel doesn’t answer her. He just stares into her eyes, as brown as the worn pages of an open book, and right then, it clicks for her. She feels the notch between her eyebrows slacken a little with realization.

“You meant it, didn’t you? When you told them you loved me.”

It’s a stupid thing to say, really; she’s known the answer since the words left his mouth. Maybe she just didn’t want to let herself believe it, like usual.

“Yes.” Samuel gazes at her, tender and nervous and so, so honest. “Did you not want me to?”

She should say yes. It would finally make him see reason, finally stop him from being so blinded by her. But she can’t, because despite everything, she’s latching onto that confession. Selfishly so, but that’s just who she is, right? A selfish person.

Her heart’s racing. _He’s in love with me too._

“No, I did. I do,” she whispers, and Samuel’s smile instantly brightens. 

It’s his turn to place his palm on her cheek. He brushes his thumb over her skin, and it’s only when she feels something smear against it does she notice that she’s crying. 

He gives her a quiet laugh of relief. “Good. I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise.”

Somehow, she manages a small smile. Samuel kisses her forehead, then gently captures her lips. She prematurely breaks their kiss, however, and stares at his chest. “We should get back. Lu’s probably looking for us.”

Samuel hesitates for a moment. She feels him looking at her, unsure, before sensing him nod. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

*

Lu descends upon them as soon as they walk through the front door, already dressed, hair and makeup done. 

“Where the hell did you run off to?” She asks, impatient and annoyed. Carla and Samuel share a loaded look, the latter opening his mouth to most likely feed the brunette a lie, but she waves him off before he can speak. “You know what? Never mind. We’re running so late, I don’t even have time to lecture you on how it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding. Go put on your tux. You’re leaving in five minutes.”

Samuel, seemingly knowing better than to argue with Lu in her current mood, raises his eyebrows at Carla and walks off without another word. 

“Come on, we still need to do your hair. Shit, and your makeup’s completely messed up!” Lu continues, gently grabbing ahold of Carla’s arm and steering her back upstairs. 

From there, things are so fast-paced that Carla can hardly spare a single thought for the countless number of doubts and worries darkening her mind. Marina retouches her makeup, Lu finishes and sets the veil’s comb into Carla’s hair, she slips into that beautiful dress, and then they’re all packing themselves into the limousine Lu must have ordered at some point that’s waiting for them at the front of the house. 

The driver takes them to an overlook a few minutes away from the lake, scenic and beautiful with a gazebo perched near the edge. There’s a white aisle rolled out onto the path leading up to it, and a few plastic chairs are lined up on the surrounding grass, pale yellow roses adorning the backs of each one. It’s both understated and elegant. Carla loves it, and she has no idea how Lu managed any of this in such a short amount of time.

A few of the other guys are milling about, dressed in their own suits, but Carla can’t spot Samuel anywhere yet as the limousine parks and the girls lead her to a small canopy, one of the curtains drawn so that it’ll hide her from view until the moment she walks down the aisle. Rebe, Marina, and Nadia hug and kiss Carla before heading up to the gazebo to take their seats; since it’s an incredibly tiny wedding, there’s not going to be a normal bridal procession, just Yasmin and Amaya as the flower girls. And far too soon, in Carla’s opinion, they’re ushered forward by Lu with their little baskets of rose petals. 

Carla clasps her own flower bouquet in front of her chest. She’s probably ruining the stems, she’s crushing them so tightly, but she can’t bring herself to loosen her grip.

Lu, who’s set to give her away, notices. “Relax,” she says kindly. “Are you nervous?”

“Somewhat,” Carla answers with a stiff nod, although _nervous_ isn’t the exact word she’d use. She can’t exactly tell Lu that she feels like a horrible person, or that it seems like the walls are closing in on her, despite the fact that they’re standing outside. 

The brunette gently lays her hand over Carla’s. “I know it’s really easy for me to say, but don’t be. Samuel loves you.” Carla flashes her a thankful smile, even if the girl’s words do nothing to erase any of her doubts. Carla doesn’t think anything will, at this point. “Now that we’re here, where _did_ you two go earlier, anyway? Don’t tell me that you’re so insatiable for each other that you went off to go hook up.”

Carla manages a short laugh. Thankfully, Lu doesn’t notice how stilted it sounds. “No, we just… needed some air.”

Lu offers her a sympathetic look. “Yeah. I know this week has all been more than a bit hectic, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she immediately replies, glancing down with a watery-eyed smile at where Lu is still comfortingly squeezing her fingers. “This has been one of the best weeks of my life. Probably _the_ best one, if I’m being honest.”

Lu beams and draws her into a hug. As the bridal music starts, Carla thinks, _I’m the one who’s sorry._

“It’s time,” Lu grins, pulling back. “You ready?”

Carla takes a deep breath… and nods. 

Elbows locked together, the two of them step out from behind the curtain and onto the rose-scattered aisle, and Carla’s breath hitches as she looks up and is met with the full force of everyone’s stares—but none of them compare to the guy’s standing at the far end of the aisle. Samuel’s eyes widen as soon as he sees her, lips parting, and for a second that look cuts directly through all of her trepidation like the sun’s beams would through the leaves of a tree, filling her with warmth. They can’t look away from one another as Carla steadily approaches; in fact, she’s so focused on Samuel that she hardly registers Lu handing her off to him until they’re standing opposite each other.

“Hi,” he whispers with a shy, dimpled grin. “You look… well, you know.”

Carla laughs quietly. She glances him over in his crisp tux, classic black-and-white. He’s so handsome, her heart aches. “So do you.”

Beside them, the officiant smiles. “If everyone could please take their seats,” he announces, and once they do, he starts his speech.

But Carla barely listens to it. Samuel’s gazing at her with so much love, though it’s not distracting in the right way anymore, it’s just reminding her of all of those other revelations she made last night. And now they hit harder, because he’s in love with her. He’s in love with her and he’s blinded by it. 

She turns her head to look among the faces gathered before them: Lu, Rebe, Valerio, Nadia, Omar, Ander, and Marina, all beaming up at them with nothing but happiness etched across their features; Amaya and Yasmin, in their adorable matching dresses; Pilar, grinning proudly even as she swipes at the tears falling down her cheeks.

 _A family._ Carla’s forgotten what it’s like to have one. No, that’s a lie—she’s never _known_ a real one, what it’s like to have someone love you unconditionally and overwhelmingly, not before this week. Why can’t Samuel see what he has here? Why can’t he realize what he’s putting at stake by going through with this? 

Her eyes land on Guzmán sitting in the front row, expression pinched and shuttered. And then they catch on Ms. Romero standing behind everybody, watching the ceremony from a distance. 

Because of love, Samuel would do anything for Carla. He’d said it himself. It’s time she stops being selfish and does the same for him. 

“Wait.”

At the sound of that single shaky word creeping past Carla’s lips, everyone’s attention solely shifts to her. The officiant stops his speech and looks at her, expectant and confused when Carla doesn’t say anything else. “Is there something you wanted to add?”

She clears her throat. “Um, yeah. Actually, there is.”

Samuel frowns, but he keeps his voice low. “What are you doing?”

She just presses her lips together in grim determination, unwilling to give him the opportunity to talk her out of this another time, and faces the small crowd of their friends. 

“I’m really sorry, but there’s something I need to tell all of you.”

“Carla, don’t do this,” Samuel says, urgently now, and reaches out to touch her arm.

Her resolve shakes, but it doesn’t outright crumble. She just can’t look at him.

“Samuel and I aren’t getting married.” At everyone’s silent, gawking stares, she elaborates, “What I mean is, we… we aren’t together. We never were in the first place. My visa was revoked, and because I didn’t want to go back to Madrid, I blackmailed him into marrying me.”

Lu and Nadia gasp. Valerio looks completely speechless; a first-time occurrence, to be sure, and Omar and Ander share shocked glances of their own. Rebe and Marina both just seem stunned, blinking slowly. Guzmán’s eyebrows are raised, probably more surprised by the fact that Carla’s actually coming clean more than anything.

She can’t bring herself to linger too long on any of them, though. She definitely can’t even look Pilar in the eye, even if it is through a screen—Carla’s afraid of what she’ll find.

Sensing Samuel’s oncoming argument of her bribing him more than blackmailing, she keeps talking.

“We’ve been lying to you. But please, don’t be mad at Samuel, he’s… he’s such a good person. I know you love him. And—” Carla stumbles a little as her voice turns thick and clumsy with tears, “And I know some of you have come to love me too, and that this is completely unforgivable. My word doesn’t mean anything to you now, but I wish you can believe me when I say that I’ve genuinely grown to care about every single one of you. I never expected it to happen. That doesn’t make what I did to you right, but really, you’re all wonderful. You have a beautiful family, and I’m so, so thankful that you guys included me in it. I always will be.”

Finally, Carla turns to Samuel. That adoring look is gone, replaced by one full of hurt and confusion. She hates to see him like this, but she knows it’s for the best. Tears are streaking down her cheeks in full now, and they wet his own as she cups one of them in her hand, eases forward, and places a quick, gentle kiss on it. Samuel doesn’t budge an inch. He doesn’t say anything either when she pulls back and caresses the side of his face, gazing at him sadly, fondly, _lovingly._

She doesn’t tell him that she loves him, however. She knows that if she does, then he won’t let her go.

“I hope you can forgive me,” Carla says instead, and with that, she finally walks away from him. 

Still, she does halt amidst everyone’s dumbstruck looks next to Rebe, reaching up and taking the veil out of her hair. She offers it out to the taller girl, but after staring at it for a moment, she just gives Carla a rueful smile and a shake of her head. 

“Keep it, blondie,” she says. “It’s still yours.”

Carla presses her lips together in a not-quite smile. She feels someone tug on her hand, and looks down to find Amaya standing beside her. 

“Auntie Carla, where are you going?”

The name makes Carla’s smile deepen, even as fresh tears spring to her eyes. She kneels down a bit. Over the top of the girl’s head, she glances at Ms. Romero.

“I have to go back home now,” she tells Maya, taking her hand in her own and squeezing in reassurance, trying to ease that worried expression off her face. It doesn’t work, not really, so she leans forward and murmurs in her ear, “Will you take care of your Uncle Samu for me?”

Amaya nods her head quietly before throwing her arms around Carla’s neck in an abrupt hug, catching her off guard for a second. She returns it for a moment, and then stands up. 

Ms. Romero is waiting a few yards away. Carla walks up to her, but neither of them say anything. She just gives the older woman a wordless nod and follows her to her car.

Back at the house, Carla packs quickly. Her eyes catch on Samuel’s t-shirt, the one she’d worn, and it takes everything in her not to shove it into her suitcase along with the rest of her things. However, she does scribble a brief note that she leaves on the bed for him to find later. 

When she’s done, Carla casts one final look around the room and thinks about all the memories she’s made here this week. Even if it would make it easier for her to move on, she’ll never forget what it was like to love and be loved between these four walls. 

She smiles to herself, bittersweet, and shuts the door behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> went from fluff to sad real quick but that’s just how it be sometimes kdjskfjs don’t worry though thing’s will turn out okay. if you follow me on tumblr or just noticed the chapter count, then you know we only have one more to go! thank you to everyone who’s messaged me asking for updates, thoughts, or just to send your love, it really means a lot :)


	9. from this day forward until death do us part

“I’m really sorry, I’m not entirely sure what’s going on either, but I don’t think you’re going to be marrying anybody today. You can keep the deposit I gave you.” 

Lu turns away from the confused-looking wedding officiant as he does the same, the fake, overtly polite smile on her face instantly disappearing as she joins everyone else where they’re hovering around Samuel. He’s been slumped against the back of one of the chairs since Carla left, staring emptily at his feet. 

“Okay, what the fuck?” Lu says to him. “You have some explaining to do, so start.”

“Lucrecia,” Nadia scolds in a hushed voice, and Samuel doesn’t have to see her to know that she’s leveling her with a stern look.

“ _What?_ ”

“Maybe show a little tact here?”

“I don’t think anything about this can be saved by tact, Nadia; that has been completely thrown out the window.”

“Girls,” Samuel hears his mother say gently but warningly all the same. It’s the first thing she’s said since Carla blew everything wide open, actually.

Lu and Nadia mutter their apologies, although the former continues, still in a whisper as if Samuel can’t hear her from a mere foot and a half away, “Honestly, I can’t be the only one here wondering what the hell just happened though, right?”

“Of course not,” Rebe says, “but—”

“I think Carla just explained it pretty thoroughly. They were lying to us the entire time,” Ander murmurs, but it sounds more matter-of-fact than angry; way calmer than his boyfriend, at least.

“He was _forced_ to lie,” Omar retorts. “You all heard what she said.”

“No,” Samuel finally speaks up, the word much louder and harsher than the quiet conversation his friends have been having without him. “I wasn’t being forced to do anything.”

“Samu, she was blackmailing you,” Marina says, and the way she does, like she’s trying to tip-toe around him, makes him frown. 

He looks up at all of them, the urge to defend Carla tearing through his body, surpassing the devastation she’s left on his heart. “ _No,_ she wasn’t.”

“So she was lying about that, too? Great,” Omar scoffs, earning himself a glare and sharp elbow in the side from his sister. He glares back at her, but otherwise shuts up. 

“Why would she do that, then?” Valerio asks.

“To protect him,” Lu answers for Samuel, realization dawning on her face. “What they were doing was illegal. If they were caught, Carla would just get kicked out of the country. But Samuel would be arrested.”

Samuel just nods, looking back down at the ground. He doesn’t feel like talking all that much. Honestly, all he feels is gutted. He just wants to be as far away from here as possible.

“But… why would she be so desperate to stay here?” Rebeka asks after a beat. It’s followed by a few more moments of silence as everyone realizes that none of them have the answer to that, and then Samuel feels their expectant eyes on him.

He sighs. “It’s not my place to tell you.”

“Well, I think you’ve definitely kept enough stuff from us already,” Lu replies sharply.

“It’s about her parents, isn’t it?” 

Surprised, Samuel looks up at his mom, displayed on the screen of the iPad propped up on the seat next to him. He presses his lips together and bobs his head in another tiny nod. 

Lu closes her eyes, exhaling heavily. “Shit. I should’ve realized that sooner.”

“What?” Omar frowns. “What about her parents?”

“She didn’t go too much into it, she just said that they have their issues.”

“They’ve put her through a lot. Believe me, they’re both pieces of shit,” Samuel says, unable to keep the disgust and anger for her parents from coloring his voice. It gentles, lowers a bit as he continues, “But they’re not why I helped her, I didn’t even know about her relationship with them when I agreed to this. I helped her because I love her.”

Even though it took him a hell of a long time to realize it, he knows that now. He didn’t fall in love with Carla over the course of this week, it’s always been there, just waiting for him to notice it. 

And he waits for the inevitable lecture from his friends and family to come too, but all he gets is a rather stifling amount of silence.

Then Rebe says, “So are you going to go after her, or what?”

Samuel furrows his eyebrows and jerks his head up. He looks between their faces and finds the same question reflected on each of them. “What?”

“You said you love her,” the brunette replies, voice getting a little exasperated. “What the hell are you still doing here?”

“You’re not going to try to tell me that I was being stupid? Delusional?” Samuel asks, still incredulous. “Aren’t you guys mad?”

“Of course we’re mad,” Lu shoots back. “We’re mad you lied, we’re mad Carla just left like that, and we’re mad that you let her!”

With each word, Samuel just grows more and more dumbfounded, and Omar, clearly seeing that they’re getting nowhere, sighs impatiently. He leans down and places his hands on Samuel’s shoulders so that he’s forced to look into his eyes.

“Enough of the pity party, dude, there’s no time for any of this shit. We can talk about how much of a shitty friend you’ve been and then congratulate you on finding true love or whatever as soon as you come back with her,” he says, and promptly shoves a pair of keys into Samuel’s palm.

Samuel stares down at them for a few seconds. 

And then he sets his jaw in determination, nods, and springs up to his feet.

His friend grins and claps him on the arm. As Samuel spins around and starts jogging to the cars, Omar calls out, “Good luck!”

*

_I promise, this doesn’t change anything else about our deal. I’ll use whatever strings I still have within the company to make you an editor and publish that book. _

_ I hope you have a happy life. I meant what I said, you’re a good person. You deserve someone who is, too. And your family loves you. I couldn’t let you throw that away for me.  _

_ I’m sorry.  _

_Carla_

Perched on the edge of their bed, Samuel reads the words printed in Carla’s neat handwriting over and over again.

He’d pretty much sprinted into the house and up the stairs as soon as he got here twenty minutes ago, crashing into his and Carla’s room and hoping to find her standing in the middle of it all. But that hope had been doused pretty quickly; the room had been empty and almost eerily silent, and upon closer inspection, Carla’s things were gone.

All he had found was this note, resting on the blanket next to Carla’s flower bouquet. 

He wants to be angry. He wants to be mad at Carla for leaving, for not listening to him every time he told her that she’s deserving of actually having happiness, for being so _self-sacrificing._ He wants to hit something, or crumple the note up, he doesn’t know—but he’s only defeated.

The two closest airports are both about an hour away, and she could be at either one of them; there’s no way for him to tell. By the time he gets on a flight of his own and heads back to New York, Carla will probably be well on her way to Madrid. 

It doesn’t matter if he leaves right now, or if he hurries. He’s too fucking late.

“She’s already gone?”

Samuel barely turns his head at the sound of Guzmán’s voice. Again, none of his earlier anger towards the man resurfaces, and the most he can manage is a quiet and bitter scoff. “Yeah. You should be off celebrating somewhere, right?”

He expects Guzmán to react defensively. Perhaps part of Samuel is even craving it, because maybe then he could force himself to lash out, too. 

However, Guzmán doesn’t. He only says, “I was wrong.”

Finally, Samuel fully looks up at him. Guzmán’s standing just inside the room, hands shoved into the pockets of his suit’s pants, and to add to Samuel’s shock, he doesn’t seem like he’s only saying this out of some obligation or because Nadia had forced him to. He actually appears remorseful. 

“I was wrong,” he repeats. “About her.”

When Samuel doesn’t say anything, Guzmán comes to sit beside him on the bed. Samuel doesn’t try to stow Carla’s note away or hide it from view, and because Guzmán is still _Guzmán,_ he knows that the blond reads it.

“I really did think she was blackmailing you, but as soon as she said it up there… I don’t know. I just knew it wasn’t true.” Guzmán exhales. “I’m really sorry, man. For this week. For everything. I was mad at you and taking it out on her.”

“I’m sorry, too. Even if I couldn’t actually visit you guys, I should’ve tried harder to reach out to all of you these past few years.” He looks down at the small piece of paper still held between his fingers. “But honestly, I don’t think you being right or not about Carla was going to stop this from happening.”

How could he be so oblivious? He should’ve seen this coming from a mile away; Carla hadn’t exactly been concealing her doubts lately, Samuel had just been downplaying them. He could fucking hit himself. He knows that she was nearly forced to marry another man she didn’t want to, and here _he_ was, ignoring all the signs. Because he loves her. 

She hadn’t even said it back. He’s such an idiot.

“What are you going to do?” Guzmán asks after a moment.

Samuel inhales slowly, then shrugs. “Go back to New York, I guess.”

“You’re just gonna, what, give up?”

“Well, what the hell do you expect me to do, man?” Samuel retorts, feeling helpless, which just translates to his irritation finally beginning to push through the cracks.

But Guzmán has always been the challenging sort, obviously. “You were being stubborn with me all week. Where is that Samu now?”

Samuel scowls for a second longer before he exhales and forces the tension out of his shoulders. “I’m not even sure she wants to see me. She still left.”

“Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t. You’re never going to know if you don’t find out for yourself,” Guzmán says. His voice turns gentler. “But she wouldn’t have left if she didn’t love you at least a little bit.”

Samuel considers that. “How am I supposed to find her?”

Rolling his eyes, Guzmán bumps their arms together. “Dude, use your head. You still work at her company, and you were her damn secretary for five years.”

“ _Assistant,_ ” Samuel corrects him automatically, but a tiny smirk tugs on his lips.

Guzmán grins too, even as he holds his hands up in surrender at his sides. “Assistant, whatever, sorry,” he chuckles lightly. “My point is, maybe start there.”

Thoughtfully, Samuel rereads the note for one last time. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, maybe.”

*

Sighing heavily, Carla pushes herself back up to her feet. She runs her hands through her hair, briefly letting her eyes fall closed, before opening them again and staring down at the half-unpacked box she’d just spent close to an hour sitting in front of. Then, with the same amount of deep reluctance, she looks around at the countless other untouched moving boxes stacked around the room.

She’s been in this new apartment for a little over a week, and so far all she’s managed to unpack is a few sets of clothes, a handful of towels, and her bedspread. And she’s pretty sure the last one wouldn’t have even been managed were it not for the fact that she bought this place semi-furnished: meaning that, if she hadn’t, then she surely would’ve spent the past week sleeping on the couch. Or, even more pathetically, the floor. 

It’s not like she even has the excuse of work keeping her too busy. At first, that might’ve been the case—she certainly had a mess on her hands to deal with even before she landed in Madrid, what with Ms. Romero telling her on the plane that the government had begun investigating the anonymous tip against her. Not only had the woman confirmed Carla’s suspicion that her father had been responsible, they discovered that Derek’s money laundering was also tied up in a whole scandal involving not only her dad, but Begoña as well. 

_But since the investigation is still ongoing,_ Ms. Romero had told her, _I’m afraid that you’re still going to have to leave the country for the time being. I assure you that we’ll have this settled as soon as possible, but considering jurisdictions…_

Carla had gotten the message, even if the woman had been too remorseful to say it. She’s stuck in Spain indefinitely.

So she bought this apartment, located as far away from her parents’ house as she could get without outright leaving the city, and got set to do what she does best: cleaning up Teodoro Rosón’s mistakes. 

That had kept her so occupied in the beginning that it was easy to avoid all of her other issues, but there was really only so much Carla could do before even she was stopped by red tape, hands figuratively tied. When that time came, she decided to take a few days off. Before, her main method of coping had been tirelessly throwing herself into her job, but of course, that was her problem: _before._

Before Tahoe, that family, the lies; before she realized just how much she was completely in love with Samuel. Maybe the reason why she would overwork herself so much was because she knew that his presence at the company, at her side, was a given. Now that that isn’t the case anymore, work just doesn’t seem as appealing. It just seems too quiet, and somehow even more depressing than sitting in an empty apartment and eating takeout for a week straight because all of her kitchenware is still packed away.

Speaking of, Carla decides to procrastinate once again by picking up her phone to find something for dinner. She eventually settles on Italian, ordering herself a pasta dish and side salad, and pours herself a glass of wine—another one of the only things she’d taken out, her wine glass set, because she had refused to lose the last remaining ounce of dignity she has left by drinking straight from the bottle—before bypassing the still-open box she’d been rifling through and curling up on the couch. She sits there for a moment, unsure of what to do while she waits because it certainly won’t be _unpacking,_ before her eyes catch on the thick stack of paper resting on the corner of her coffee table.

Carla sets her wine down beside it and picks it up, thoughtfully skimming through the marked pages. She’d kept her promises to Samuel: she’d made sure the higher-ups in the New York branch gave him his promotion, and she set in motion the publishing of his neighbor’s book—of course, only after she’d read it over once to make sure it was actually readable, and then three more times to boot because it was enthralling. He hadn’t been kidding. It’s a great book, if a little too on the nose. She wonders if Samuel even realizes what it’s clearly about. Still, she feels like shit for not listening to him and getting it published sooner.

What she doesn’t know how to feel about is the fact that he hasn’t tried to reach out to her once in the past week and a half. Part of her, obviously, is greatly relieved; unfortunately, it’s just that a much bigger one is heartbroken. She can’t blame him for not calling her, she can’t even blame him if he hates her now—after all, she’s the one who broke his heart first. 

Carla reaches for her wine and downs half of it in one go. There’s no point in dwelling on that now, so she immerses herself in the manuscript as she waits for her dinner to arrive. 

What only feels like five minutes but must be closer to an hour later, she’s drawn back to reality by a knock. She unfolds herself from the couch and sets the thicket of papers back down, snatching up the cash she’d set aside on the breakfast counter before blindly opening the door.

She looks up, the _keep the change_ she was about to say dying on her tongue as she finds herself staring into a pair of warm, honeyed eyes that definitely do not belong to any delivery boy. 

Carla goes as still as a statue. She’s unable to blink or form words, although she does briefly wonder if she’s drunker than she thought. Surely, she must be hallucinating.

But then Samuel cracks a dimpled smile, hesitant and nervous, and she knows he’s real because there’s no way even her own mind could conjure up an image that makes her heart flutter so much. 

“Hi,” he says after a very long moment of them just staring at one another. It’s barely above a whisper, but that doesn’t stop how his voice spills over her like something molten and sweet. Like some sort of _delicacy._ It feels like it’s been way longer than just a handful of days since she last heard it.

Carla finally collects herself, blinking and licking her lips, but the tension doesn’t leave her body. She’s got one fist gripping her doorknob tight, and the other clenched around the stupid money. All of her walls, the ones that Samuel had somehow both gradually and swiftly knocked down, are raised all the way up. 

“Hi,” she says back. She doesn’t let herself take him in too much; doesn’t allow herself to acknowledge that he looks good. The eyes and the smile are already damaging enough. “What are you doing here?”

That smile deepens now, a little playful. “Here on your doorstep or here in Madrid?”

Carla’s lips twitch, but it’s not really a smile of her own. “Both, I guess.”

Whatever minuscule amount of confidence he’d managed to build in the last two seconds is washed away as that nervousness comes back. He’s very clearly trying not to fidget. 

“Well,” he starts, “I came to see you.”

That makes her heart sing, and Carla desperately tries to ignore it. Doing that entails not saying anything at all.

After a beat, Samuel sighs and lets his gaze fall down. Another second passes, and he glances back up, searching her eyes. Then he hesitantly reaches for her hand. He goes slow enough to give her a chance to step back. 

She wills herself to do it, but her body doesn’t listen to her. He’s going to touch her, and just like that, her walls are going to crumble. He’s going to touch her, and it’s going to feel like salvation and pure hurt at the same time. All Carla can do is close her eyes against the fresh tears that have sprung to them and allow herself to fall.

The plummet doesn’t come, though, because her eyes suddenly pop back open again and Samuel’s hand drops back down to his side as someone softly clears their throat beside him.

Carla could kiss the delivery boy for his timing. She could also hit him. 

He quickly looks between her and Samuel, clearly aware that he’s just interrupted something and feeling awkward about it. Lamely, he lifts the plastic bag in his hand a bit. “Uh, I have an order for Carla…?”

She presses her lips together and swallows thickly, tearing her eyes away from Samuel. Nods her head, stiff. “Yeah, that’s me.” 

He hands her the food and doesn’t comment on how the few bills she gives him in return are pretty much crumbled into a ball and a little damp with panic sweat. She tells him to keep the change, and the kid utters a _thank you_ and bolts away from the tension as fast as possible. Carla’s a little envious of him, to be honest.

As it is, she looks at Samuel once again, exhales a heavy, resigned sigh, and turns around and walks further into her apartment without shutting the door in his face. It takes him a second, but eventually, he reads it as the invitation that it is and follows her inside. 

He hovers in her living room for a moment. Carla pretends that she isn’t hyper aware of him looking around as she stands in the kitchen and sets her food down on the counter, especially when his eyes land back on her.

“You know, I used to deliver food in high school. I had to ride around the city on my bike, though. I didn’t have a car. It kind of sucked,” he says in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Again, she gives him an indulgent smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It’s polite more than anything, just like her next question. “I only ordered enough for myself, but if you’re hungry...?”

“That’s okay, I’m not really—I ate already. I’ll, uh, take water if you have some, though?” 

Carla wonders if he’s lying to her, if he’s starving and is just too nervous to eat. _She_ certainly feels that way; she completely avoids her meal altogether, instead fetching him a bottle of water from the fridge.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your dinner plans,” Samuel continues as she walks around the counter to hand the water to him, and she could laugh, really. She hardly considers sitting on her couch, alone, and disinterestedly picking out of to-go containers counts as _dinner plans._ And Samuel isn’t so dense that he can’t tell that’s exactly what she was going to do, he’s just too nice to outright say it—Carla simply decides not to comment.

He takes the water from her with a little smile.

“I’d offer you a glass, but…” She glances around at the several boxes around them and shrugs. Samuel chuckles lightly.

“This is fine, thank you.” He untwists the cap and takes a sip. Carla averts her eyes away from his lips, his throat, _everything._

Another tense silence falls over them as they awkwardly stand there next to the breakfast counter. She asks herself if he’s also trying and failing not to think about the last time they were in a similar setting together.

Carla flexes her jaw and sighs. There’s no use in dragging this out any longer. “Samuel, why are you here?”

“I told you, I wanted to see you.”

“That doesn’t really tell me anything at all,” she argues with a shake of her head.

For some reason, he looks mildly exasperated with her. It’s soon replaced by determination. “Can we sit?”

Wordlessly, she leads him over to the couch. She takes the spot she’d been occupying earlier, drawing her knees up to her chest and facing him as he sits across from her at the far end. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. Carla waits. 

“I wanted to talk about why you left,” he finally starts. 

She raises her eyebrows a bit. “You could have just called me.”

“Would you have answered?”

Carla averts her eyes. She can’t even answer _that._

Samuel ducks his head a little so that he’s in her line of sight, taking a deep breath. “Look, for a minute, I thought I scared you off by telling you I love you. But then I realized that wasn’t it.” Carla frowns, opening her mouth to say _of course that wasn’t it_ , because she told him exactly what it was more than once, but he stops her. “No, let me finish. It wasn’t about you feeling bad, either, or wanting to do the right thing. Not entirely.”

“Then please, Samuel, enlighten me what it was about, since you seem to know everything now,” Carla snaps, even as she defensively curls in on herself.

He doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t lose his patience. He just gives her a crooked smile that she can’t bring herself to hate as much as she wishes she would—it’d just make all of this _easier._

“Well, I had a seven-hour plane ride to think it over,” he murmurs jokingly, and finally, Carla’s tiny smile is genuine. Samuel grows serious again. “And what I came to realize is that, more than anything, you were scared.”

Carla doesn’t say anything. Slowly, she looks at him out of the corner of her eye. His expression is gentle. Understanding, even.

“I should’ve noticed it sooner, honestly,” he continues. “After all, I know what it’s like to run from something scary. I did it when I moved to New York.”

“Of course I was scared,” she whispers. “I didn’t want you to go to prison for me.”

“But I wasn’t. We had everyone fooled.” 

She looks down. Thinks, _don’t remind me._

“Carla, I told you from the very beginning, I know how overwhelming my family can be. I just didn’t know how overwhelming it could be for someone who’s barely even had one. You’re used to being alone, but then you grew attached to everybody, and you were afraid of our lie tearing them from you.” He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Honestly, this is where you kind of lose me. You’re scared of maybe ending up by yourself again in a year or two, so you do it now? That’s stupid.”

She huffs a small, humorless laugh, and sadly stares at some random point on her coffee table. “Better to have them hate me now and get it over with than wait for the inevitable to happen.”

“They don’t hate you.” She lifts a doubtful eyebrow, still not looking at him. “I’m not just saying that. They don’t. They were mad and confused, yeah, but then they were just hurt. Not because you lied, but because you left, Carla.”

The urge to cry suddenly strikes her, vision turning blurry, and she tries to hold the tears back. Samuel’s waiting for her to reply, but she can’t. Instead, she idly picks at a loose thread on the knee of her sweatpants. And she sort of hates how she’s sitting here in sweats and an oversized shirt, bra-less, face clear, hair washed but flat… and then she hates even more how she’s reverted back to needing those defenses in front of him. Samuel has never cared. Samuel probably thinks she looks _beautiful._

Carla quietly clears her throat and blinks her tears away. When she doesn’t feel like she’s going to immediately crumble, she changes the subject. “Did you really sit on a seven-hour plane ride just to call me stupid?”

He lets out a soft snort, lips curled up in a hint of a smile. 

But then he says, “Only partially. I also did it because I live here now.”

Her gaze cuts to him in shock. He’s just grinning back at her, a bit innocent and a big smug, and all she can do is stare at him in return. 

“I would’ve been here sooner, but after making me an editor, my boss went on temporary leave and my transfer to Madrid’s office was annoyingly slowed down. I only just got to the city yesterday,” he says cheekily. “So, sorry about that.”

“But… why…?”

His expression softens even as his voice turns slightly obvious. “Carla, I’ve made it completely clear that I want to be with you.”

Her eyes tick between his, brows gradually lowering into a frown. “See, Samuel, this is exactly why—why are you so intent on giving up your life for me? You have one in New York, you’ve spent the past five years there, it’s your home.”

“No, it’s not. I have nothing there, no friends or family. It was never my home.” 

He scoots closer to her on the cushions, and now he doesn’t give her the opportunity to move away at all as he grabs her hand. Feeling his skin on her own is like being struck by a bolt of lightning; she feels every hair on her body stand on end in the wake of it. 

“The only thing keeping me in New York was you,” he continues, looking at her intently. “It isn’t because I worked for you, but because I love you. I have for a while now. I _want_ to be with you. For real.”

Carla looks upon their hands and sighs. “You were going to marry me, but nothing about that wedding was real. _That_ was stupid, willing to skip directly to marriage just because you want to be with me.” She chuckles derisively. Jokes, “Shit, you didn’t even actually propose.”

She expects Samuel to laugh, but he doesn’t say anything. When she glances at him, he’s staring back at her, lips pressed into a line.

And then Carla gapes as he moves off of the couch and gets down on one knee. 

“What are you doing?” She asks him, incredulous and also a little panicked, but he ignores her.

“Carla Rosón, will you do me the honor...” 

_He can’t be serious._

“...of being my girlfriend?”

He _can’t_ be _serious._

Carla stares at him, mouth open as she recovers from her shock. Then she scowls as Samuel’s face splits in a bright grin, and she lsmacks him on the shoulder. 

“ _Ow,_ ” he laughs, wincing and rubbing his arm. “That’s not exactly the answer I was hoping for.”

“You asshole, you almost gave me a fucking heart attack!” She retorts, but she’s laughing a little too, and also leaning down to kiss him. 

He hums a low moan. “Is that a yes?”

Carla grins against his mouth. “It’s a _shut up._ ”

“So mean,” he huffs. “But I’ll take it.”

She just shakes her head and laughs, capturing his lips again. It deepens pretty quickly, and her smile slowly fades away as she gets lost in it. Eventually, Samuel begins to move in an attempt to change what must be an awkward angle for him, and he braces his hand on the coffee table to help himself up but only succeeds in knocking something over instead.

They both pull away to look down at it, and find themselves staring at the manuscript’s cover page.

_The Sunflower_

_by Cayetana Grajera Pando_

Carla drapes her arms around Samuel’s neck, idly playing with the hair at his nape, and watches him smile. 

“She was so excited when I told her that you were going to publish it,” he says.

“It’s a great book. I should’ve done it sooner.” Carla eyes him. “You know it’s about us, right?”

He furrows his eyebrows, bewildered. “What? No, it’s not.”

“Of course it is. The names, jobs, and situations are slightly changed, but it’s fundamentally about a guy falling for his damaged boss,” she points out. She waits for him to tell her that he’s just kidding, but all he does is open and close his mouth for several moments as he processes this revelation. _Great,_ he really is the stupid one here, and leave it to Carla to fall for him. Still, it’s kind of endearing. “Samuel…”

“I mean—but—I barely even talked about work with her,” he says, and Carla purses her lips to hide her amused smile, although she doesn’t try very hard. “Well, I guess I might’ve rambled on about _you_ sometimes, but I don’t think—”

Carla takes his face into her hands to stop him from rambling _now,_ and he quiets immediately, looking at her down the slope of his nose because of how close she’s leaned in again.

“Would it make you feel better about your total obliviousness if I told you I loved you, too?” He blinks once, gives her a slight nod of his head, and Carla smiles. “Then, I love you.”

He breaks out into a boyish grin. “You love me?” It’s her turn to nod now. “Say it again.”

So she does, over and over. 

It makes her forget about her unpacked boxes; her cold, sad dinner-for-one. 

_ He _ makes this apartment, this city, finally feel like home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay again thank you thank you thank you to everyone who supported this story!! i know commenting isn’t always easy because of shyness or just a mere lack of words but it’s really appreciated and you don’t know how much it actually inspires a writer to keep on writing
> 
> im sad to see this story come to an end, but i’ve got a bunch of prompts i still need to fill as well as my own original ideas, and i also have at least one companion piece planned for this fic! it’ll probably be posted on its own though and not in take it how you want it, as part of a sunflower!verse series just in case i ever keep adding to it (i probably will lol) :)


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